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 Posted: Sun Jun 11, 2017 2:24 am
>>> Where are we? What the hell is going on?
xx >>The dust has only just begun to form crop circles in the carpet
██████
▬ Closed thread for nowSERENITY & LavvytheJackalope
▬ In which Dr.Aegis buys Mikhail
▬ Setting: A Saxon Gov't Slaving Facility
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Posted: Sun Jun 11, 2017 2:34 am
The question of getting a slave had been one that had loomed over his head for the past several years. His parents had encouraged it. After all, he was plenty well off enough for it these days. He had no want for money, or work, or space. His villa was comfortable, plenty spacious enough for an entire family to live in, but without being too expansive and empty, even with only one resident abiding inside. By all accounts, he could use a good hand around the house. Nevermind how difficult it was to keep the place clean all by himself but, as his father kept insisting on pointing out, the older Dr.Aegis became, the more frail he grew. It was, frankly, an embarrassing problem to have to deal with at his age. But, none the less, it was a problem. He'd maintained his body carefully throughout the years, so he was better off than most in his position. He didn't need a wheelchair yet. But, year by year and month by month, his muscles slowly began to fail him. He'd need the chair, sooner or later. And the less he strained his muscles in the meantime, the farther back he could push his ultimate fate of being wheelchair bound. Every time he sat to have brunch with his parents these days, they harped him about it. His mother had a slave. She'd helped her keep her life together when she was younger, touring around to different venues across the country. These days Lilliah was more of a typical, domestic house pet. She and his parents all seemed content with it. They always went on about how "We just worry about you, Toby. What if you fall, and you're stuck all alone in that big empty house of yours? What then?" and even when the mage assured his parents that he was still plenty strong enough to pull himself off of the floor - and even if he weren't, he has been working on his telekinesis - they couldn't help but fret. They themselves were getting on in years, they would remind him. But Lilliah was closer to Tobais' age, and it made life just so much easier. They offered to come along, to help him through the process, but each time he waved them off. Dealing with all the forms and tedious bureaucracy of acquiring a slave wasn't his problem. Hell, all of his work was dealing with bureaucracy, after all. No, what Tobias was concerned with was his space.
There were so few places in the city where he could appreciate real silence. He'd sunk a good deal of the money he'd gotten from.. well, very generous friends of his, into buying a plot of land where he could put up a fence, put space on all sides so that he was out of range of any meandering crowds and passerby. The rings he wore to dampen the sound helped, but even with the enchantments, he could always hear the dull murmur of thoughts around him. He'd spent so much time, effort, and money building this house, his sanctuary. Where he could be alone with no ones thoughts but his own. He didn't need to worry about trying to awkwardly move away when people tried to touch him or shake his hand, or explain why he acted as though he was repulsed by the idea. He didn't have to listen or to answer. He could simply be. He dreaded the thought of someone encroaching upon that sanctity, nevermind how much work a slave could be. Depending on their race and history, there were all kinds of legalities to follow. And what if he went out and bought someone, and then after two years they didn't get along? Tobias dreaded the thought of being that guy, the one who came back and returned a slave and ruined that persons chances of landing with the right people. But then, what? Was he just doomed to be miserable with someone he couldn't stand if he made the wrong choice? It seemed like a lose lose situation. These, and other, various issues, had precluded the psychic from purchasing a slave for years. But his time was finally up. Ironically, despite what he'd assured his parents... he did fall. And while he was glad no one was around to see it, or tell him 'I told you so,' it was frightening when he had trouble pulling himself up again after his crutches had clattered away from him across the marble floors. He was able to use his telekinesis to pull them back that time, but it had been a vibrant wake up call. He may have only been in his thirties, but he just couldn't go on acting like he had the body of other men his age. He didn't, and he wouldn't. He needed aid as if he were some eighty year old infirm. He wasn't going to a home, so he was going to need a slave.
And so the past several months had been spent doing research. In what spare time he had, he poured over every guide he could find about how to determine the best kind of fit for a slave. There were more books and walkthroughs for first time slave buyers than even he could read in any manageable timeframe. Naturally, there was some conflicting information, but most of the basics seemed to be generally agreed upon. He was fairly certain that he'd do better with a reformed slave than a bred one, but he didn't want to close any doors. So he'd scoured the internet, records, libraries, and naturally, he'd gotten opinions from many of the upper class families whom he assisted and carried on business with these days. Most of them actually preferred bred slaves, it seemed. In fact the Fontaines - oh, don't worry Doctor, you wouldn't know them, they fell from grace a while before your time - but you know they actually owned their own kennels at one point. Oh yes. Bears and Bulls mostly, it seemed. Strength and temperament. Well, that one was dissolved now, but there were so man reputable kennels, depending on what you wanted. The Avalanches were primarily bred for guards, intimidating appearance and ferocity. Too overbearing. The Pitches were a luxury line, highly sought for their chic black large predator metas. That was hardly what he needed. Decorative slaves, really. There were all kinds of purebred lines built to suit different purposes - hard labor, child rearing, maid and filing, bodyguards.... none of the niche breeds suited his needs. But even amongst the highbrow, there were a few who strongly urged him in the other direction, insisting that reformed slaves were he way to go. There were all kinds of reasons. Bred slaves tended to be a bit mindless, they said. They don't know how to operate on their own. They're too dependent. They have no life experience, so they're difficult to get along with and relate to. Reformed slaves are trained by the division, so you know that training will hold, unlike some hokey breeding programs. Reformed slaves tended to have more personality, knew what to do when left to their own devices, and tended to be more grateful to have a good home, providing they were well taken care of. By the end of his field study, he'd decided he agreed more with the latter than the former. A reformed slave would suit him better. And it wasn't as if the normal dangers that the highbrow feared applied to him; if there were any problems regarding the training of his slave sticking, he'd know.
So then came the review process. A reformed slave meant he'd be checking the stock from the government-run slaving facilities. Most were helpful enough, posting profiles and slave statuses for all of their stock on helpful (if poorly designed) websites. For a few months, this was all Dr.Aegis did. He skimmed profiles, looking at age, race, past, everything. Sometimes he called the center to ask a few questions about a promising prospect. A few times, he even visited the locations in person to take his rings off and meet the prospective slaves in person. But in the end, he always came home alone. He refused to rush this. Refused to commit to buying someone when he wasn't completely certain that he would want to keep that person with him until he died. How anyone made these kinds of decisions on a whim were beyond him. It was worse than getting married.
The online profile of Mikhail Nicolaev seemed promising enough. There were a few quirks - the repossession, the retraining, his age. But that actually piqued Tobias' interest. Most of the potentials he'd looked at had more... sparkling records. And none of them had fit. He was finding more and more that those with a few nicks and notches in their history suited him better. Like a pair of shoes that had already been broken in. But perhaps that just made him odd. It wouldn't be the first mark for him, there. Dr.Aegis was well known for being an eccentric. A social butterfly who absolutely hated to be touched, and required a lot of alone time. Yet he still insisted on going out amongst crowds and soirees, and by all accounts seemed to enjoy them. He wore odd clothes, cloaks and long scarves to wind around his neck and face, that he bought from thrift stores of all places. Fortunately for him, the upper crust liked him well enough to simply accept his odd habits as charming, and let them slide with little to no contempt. His parents, of course, had taught him his thrifting habits, and regardless of his new social status, he felt little need to exchange them for spending pointless amounts of money on hand-tailored clothes like the rest of the stuffy snoots. In any case, apparently it was the case with slaves as well. The second-hand slaves just suited him better than the shiny fresh ones.
Mikhail had been in this facility for some time, it seemed. No doubt his age and his past had a hand in that. Oddly, it seemed that the metamorphose was, in fact, a bred slave, exactly as he'd been trying to avoid by checking out the government facilities. Still, he caught his interest enough that he warranted a closer look. Keeping his options open and all. So he'd called, asked the same questions he'd asked about a dozen other slaves. Apparently he was well behaved, didn't belong in a household with children. A little too scarred up for the tastes of most civilized folk, but a little too soft around the edges to make for a proper, ferocious bodyguard. Considered a bit too much of a risk for the professional stuff - retraining and all. But, of course, those kinds of things didn't concern Tobias. He'd be able to see the truth of the matter. So after running the attendant through the usual ring of questions, and finding them quite amenable, he set up a meeting.
And so there he was.
This was his first visit to this particular facility. His months-long search had him going back and fourth between half the facilities in the city, but it was easy to miss some that fell through the cracks. He'd actually only stumbled across the listings for this particular location because his mother had sent him a link to a different slave there; a cute little thing, but not to his liking, nor his needs. But the browsing had led him to Mikhails profile. His dress shoes clicked tidily against the tile floor as he entered, a long, dark shawl wrapped several times across his neck, shoulders, and the lower half of his face. It mostly concealed the big, obnoxious scar on his left cheek. Mostly. He approached the desk, stating simply that he had an appointment to interview #355j0. The clerk nodded, smiling and starting to prattle on about this and that, how most people just came in and browsed and never bothered setting up actual interview appointments, which was a shame, because it made life SO much easier on the workers, and... well. She was a loud thinker. Even with his rings on, Tobias could almost make out the exact words of her thoughts. She'd be more annoying for it if her thoughts weren't so simple and genuine. In a way she was charming, like an overexcited child. She had him sign a few waivers - essentially stating that Dr.Aegis wouldn't try to sue the city if a bear ripped his face off in the interview room - and showed him to the meeting room they'd be using. Quietly, the psychic slipped the rings off of his fingers, one by one, until Louise's thoughts were a loud, clear bell in between his ears. She really did hope this was a good match. She was so terribly fond of Mikhail. She could never afford a slave herself, on government secretary pay, but if she could, she'd want one like Mikhail. Maybe younger. But gosh, this psychic sure seemed chilly. He wouldn't abuse him if he DID take Mikhail, would he? Sure he had a scary face, but Mik was really such a sweet bear... on and on her brain went. By the time she shuffled him into the meeting room, he felt much more at ease both about Louise as well as Mikhail.
"We'll send him right in in just a minute~!"
The little elf piped at him, holding the door so that he could hobble in on his crutches more easily. Tobias smiled gently back, but the expression was lost beneath the shawl. The secretary quietly closed the door behind her, and her thoughts became more distant and faint. Carefully, he lowered himself into one of the chairs. One at a time, he un-clamped his arms from his crutches, setting them to one side of his chair and leaning back. Nothing but to wait and see.
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Posted: Mon Jun 12, 2017 11:17 am
 Yes, he'd been born to it: Slavery. Reared and trained on the grounds of the Fontaine estate when it was still in its glory. Mikhail wasn't a pet, the way slaves had become in the modern era. He was a servant. Proud to be a servant. It was in his blood as far back as there were any Nicolaevs.
Situated on the very outer edge of Saxon City, the house and grounds had been one of the last maintained historical manses dating back to the colonial era-- a huge, sprawling spread of meticulously kept lawns and gardens and parkland only rivaled by the Fenwick property. The Fontaine family commissioned the initial structure in the early 1700s, and there were already Nicolaevs on the ledgers, bred in France using stock from the original line by way of Russia. Broad-backed bears and oxen, slow but steady, ideal for manual labor. The clearing of forests, the hauling of stones, the digging of irrigation ditches, the laying of bricks and mortar. Many such little brothers and sisters made the crossing to the New World and served their masters and mistresses faithfully, stolidly, until death. This, in the days before the Division furthered regulations and slave rights groups firmly defined what constituted abuse or neglect. Some, of course, died on the ships. Some died in the laying of the foundations. But there were reasons the Fontaines relied so heavily on their own kennel. Reasons that they took such pride in their own bred slaves. Those first members of the family who set foot on a new shore would part with anything-- silks and satins, jewels and precious texts-- but they kept always with them the things that truly mattered. What they called sang doré-- the golden bloodline. The ones who will not tarnish. The one who do not tire. The one who would lay down their lives in labor or danger. That was what it meant, once.
That was what Mikhail grew up hearing.
That he came from a long line of those privileged to serve. It was their calling, their nature, their nurture, their everything. Even if, after the Industrial Revolution, the Nicolaev line no longer held as great a merit as it once did. Even if, at the start of the 1900s, the Fontaines were no longer so picky about selling their bred slaves to other houses for tidy sums of money. That, too, was a service in its own way. To be skilled was to be worth more, and to be worth more meant additional resources for those first masters who had been instrumental in the making of his wide and sprawling family.
By the time Mikhail was born, the huge acreage of Fontaine lands had been reduced to a smattering, making way for New Money to take up space and build small villas and country homes outside the city's rat race. It was a time of great frustration, a blow to the monumental pride of such a historical family. He heard it often, during his time in the main house when he was a boy. What else can we stand to lose? I can't believe we have to put up with this.. Further tightening and refining of slave laws were beginning to strangle the one area of trade the Fontaines had left. Suddenly, paperwork was required to show that slaves consented to be bred. Consented to duties and punishments. Records were needed to show that every slave was provided adequate room and board, adequate medical care. Their "pedigrees" were no longer sufficient identification. It was no longer legal to brand or tattoo their property unless the slave allowed it. Instead, they would have Division chips implanted. All of these things came with a cost, and what had once been a resource was suddenly a massive drain on the family's already strained coffers.
One by one, the familiar faces that had always tended to the duties of the estate started to disappear. Sold, all of them, sold. His childhood friend, Martin, a lynx who'd been born unexpectedly and caused an uproar. Gone. The little lap-lion Miss Elouise had prized so highly, the crowning gem of the kennel. Gone. Even Hathor, the pretty ox Mikhail coupled with when he came of age. Gone.
And as they were sold away, Mikhail learned to fill the gaps left behind. He was a young man, then. Raised alongside the Fontaine children for them to grow fond of. Miss Elouise. Miss Leigha. Master Fredrick. It was a tradition of the old country, and the bear had been carrying out his duties for years before there was ever any paperwork to sign. Even then, where Master Albert pointed to the dotted line and held his untrained hand to help him make his letters, Mikhail hadn't been able to read what he was consenting to. The stripes on his back were a fact of life, a fact of his service. Even at fifteen, he was big and broad and muscled in a way that young Master Fred wasn't, and it only made sense that Mikhail was needed to shield the mage when the other boy had stepped out of line. All of it had been explained to the bear when he was very young. How important it was for him to stay with the children. To take care of them, and see to their needs, and know their wants and dislikes and ailments. For them to trust him, and even love him a little, so that they would behave better. So that they wouldn't want to see him striped for their misdeeds.
It didn't quite work out that way, but Mikhail couldn't fault them for it. It wasn't his place to judge or question. Only to do his duty. There was no resentment in him. Just a slow, bewildering unease that grew as he labored his way into adulthood. Like an elephant terrified of mice, the huge teddybear was uncomfortable around children. Tense. Some corner of his deeply docile mind always expecting to hear the simple command: Kneel, and bow.
Fortunately, he spent less and less time around them as the years wore on. Mikhail took on other duties, seeing to the maintenance of the grounds, cleaning the broad halls of the house, laying place settings, shadowing Miss Leigha when she went to the social gatherings that seemed to please her less and less. At night, the bear practiced sums and letters, quietly checking his work against the old homework folders of his charges. He was past the prime age for learning such basics, but he brought to the tedium the same stolid work ethic that served him everywhere else. His masters needed him to be skilled. They needed him to be all-purpose. There were so few hands left, there was no more light work. But Mikhail could do it. Mikhail would do it. Mikhail did do it.
And they had to sell him anyway.
His new master had no use for sums and letters. His new master never asked him to sign on a dotted line, or laid out a list of his duties. The first order Mikhail received when he descended the stairs into the wide basement level where he was meant to live was simple. Shift. And as with every order he'd ever been given in his life, he did what any Nicolaev would do: He obeyed.
In the half-decade that he was owned by Ernest Plourde, Mikhail resumed his humanoid shape only three times, and each one was furtive, a secret he kept with himself, to prove that he had once been a man. For his owner, the advesper, he must always be the bear. Driven along, at first, by the enchanted tip of an extendable baton, the touch of it causing pain without adding damage. As though Mikhail wouldn't have descended to the pit floor simply on the man's word. As though he had no training, no breeding, and did not understand how to behave. And then, the dogs. His nose knew the difference, could mark that they weren't lycans-- most of the time. Above the pit, the glare of hanging lights, the backlit shapes of dozens of milling citizens, watching and chattering, betting. How long he would last before he wore down. How many of the hounds he'd crush or rend to defend himself. But they dogs weren't like the children of his youth. They didn't attack him vindictively, or out of malice. They were in no better a position than Mikhail himself. Acting on the word of masters who beat them, and taught them to be vicious, and fed them poorly to make them desperate. He didn't want to kill them. Tried to only leave them injured or terrified.
But Plourde tired of the dogs eventually. In the passing years, a veritable menagerie passed through the pit, brought by his master's gambling friends and clients. Boars, and wolves. Lions trafficked in. Other bears. Some were metamorphoses like himself, and some weren't. It started to be harder to tell. Started to be difficult to think of himself as the man who'd raked the long gravel drive and cleaned the front steps of the Fontaine home. Started to be difficult not to use his full weight, the full strength of his massive, clawed arms. The lights would flick on, and Mikhail would raise his head to stare at the silhouetted audience. All he'd feel was rage. It took five years for Ernest to win. For the bear to finally cave and do what he was expected to do. Not simply defend himself, not only avoid dying by whatever margin he could manage. In that red rage, Mikhail destroyed everything he could reach. Everything between his powerful jaws. Everything under the weight of his monstrous, scarred body. Everything touched by the sickle curves of his long claws.
He didn't know he was being watched.
It was specialized surveillance, and the main office wanted to turn the case file over to the regular authorities. There was no proof that there were any slaves involved. It was an open and shut case of trafficking, cruelty, and neglect-- of animals, and illegal gambling. But the fairy that whispered to him from the sill of the blacked-out basement window had been working too hard, for too long, trying to prove that Ernest Plourde needed to be barred for life from ever owning anyone again. With the standing charges, the advesper would serve time in prison-- sure-- but feasibly he could get out, get his hands on some money, and buy whoever he saw fit.
And River wasn't going to let that stand. She knew she was right. She was willing to stake her life on it.
I can help you, but I need you to prove you're a person.
That was how a candy-pink dust mote saved him. There had been tiny feet on his scarred muzzle, and then on his nose when he shifted back-- slowly, painstakingly, almost forgetting how with all the years of being only an animal. Mikhail hadn't even been able to speak to her. That was something he had to re-learn. Something that had to be retrained into him after his master was arrested, and the Division claimed him.
Everything took time.
Years to get him accustomed again to the simple act of walking on two feet. Strengthening the instinct with psychic restructuring. Therapy sessions and courses to rebuild the skills he'd been forced to let rust. In time, he was allowed to interact with the other slaves that were undergoing the same processes. People who'd been returned, or been rescued from homes where their masters had been unfit. It was the first time Mikhail ever really thought about such a thing. That a master's order could-- or even should, in some cases-- be disregarded.. That was a completely foreign concept. But with the same leash protocols that he repeated daily-- Protect. Serve. Obey.-- came the understanding that even these things had nuance.
"Obey" comes last because the other two are more important. If everything we do is for the good of our master, then it's our job to know when what they want conflicts with what they need.
And that was River, too, leading the group session under the watchful eye of the Division supervisors. Year after year, she talked the new slaves-- just trained, just beginning to approach the stages where they would be offered to masters who came looking to purchase-- through their transitory period. She was good with the reformed ones, too. Those who'd been citizens before and didn't have the benefit of being raised by a slave family. They seemed to trust her, comforted by the fact that the fairy was the same caste they were taking on, and yet moved around the Division offices with relative freedom. She wasn't a drone, as some of them thought slaves would be. She was an invaluable part of the process. But, like Mikhail, she was masterless. The entire organization appeared to know her. There were times when she even worked cooperatively with Saxon's police department. But she was stuck in the same odd, in-between place as the bear. Unowned, but not free.
It's hard to find a home, after this. She told him once, gesturing around the complex. You still show up in the catalogs and on the database, but a lot of people see the reclamation mark, and that's as far as they go. It's important to make your peace with it, Mikkie. There won't be many interviews in the future for either of us. But there's always work here, helping with the others. You set a good example, and maybe one day you can do rescues with me.
He wanted to think she was wrong, but she wasn't. Inquiries about him were rare. Interviews were much rarer still. The last had been over a year ago, and had ended almost before it began. Even with all of his information in front of her, presumably read beforehand, the little caim had abruptly climbed out of her chair and made for the door as soon as he entered. Later, when he'd asked Louise what it was that he'd done wrong, the woman had shaken her head and assured him that nonono, it wasn't him, he didn't do anything, there was just a prior engagement, a mismanagement of the schedule, a misunderstanding, a little switcheroo, and his appointment probably would just be set for a different day. But, of course, it never was. He was too old. Too scarred up, both on his body and on his record sheet. All the things he knew how to do were an enticement, but not when balanced against what he might be capable of.
All he wanted was a chance. To explain. To prove that he could serve. That he could earn his place. That he was more than just the bear.
But he didn't get one. Not until he'd been with the Division for just over five years.
It was Louise who told him about the appointment. Fairly bobbing on the balls of her feet, she'd obviously been overjoyed to give him the news, even though she wasn't strictly supposed to. The reasons why were, of course, numerous. He needed to be candid in his interview, and couldn't do that if he prepared beforehand. The meeting could very well be cancelled before it ever even took place. There was an entire litany. But Mikhail didn't feel any apprehension about it. Only a vague, listless kind of hope. The beaten down kind that won't quite die despite disappointment after disappointment. Each day, he dressed and exercised and practiced his reading, his writing. Each day, he waited for Louise to let him down easy. Tell him that whoever it was had decided to interview with someone else, or not at all. Each day, he say in the group session and he said the same words with everyone else: Protect. Serve. Obey. And wondered if he'd ever really have that again.
But the day came. And Louise didn't have to hunt him down. He'd been ready for hours. Had woken up early, despite how much he hated it, just to make sure that there was no possible chance of missing it. No possible chance of arriving covered in sweat from the necessary maintenance of his massive frame. The elf found him sitting squarely on his neatly made Division-issue bed, simply dressed in the organization greys given to all cataloged slaves. Hair brushed-- for once in his life-- and beard neatly shaped, Mikhail stood to follow the much smaller figure down the hall. Steady steps, slow, so that he didn't outpace her with his longer stride. Breathing even, the way they'd taught him when he first arrived.
He was an old bear. He wouldn't be chosen. But this was this opportunity. This was his chance. He had to acquit himself well.
When the door opened, the person sitting at the table seemed more scarf than man, but Mikhail made eye contact, politely tipping his head as he bowed forward. Oddly formal, that, but it felt right. So many of the younger slaves in the facility had never been taught the nuances of showing respect. On the bear's massive frame, the movement seemed something akin to an elephant going to one knee, but he didn't go quite that far. Instead, Mikhail settled into the chair on the other side of the table, dwarfing the bit of furniture completely.
His face, permanently severe between the brows and beard, let alone the scarring, settled into lines as calm as it was capable of. Mikhail's effort at a small smile, even though it was probably almost invisible. The blonde hadn't run screaming from the room yet, which was a definite improvement. Perhaps only because running might be difficult. The bear saw the crutches, but didn't stare at them. They were a detail noted in the peripheral, a footnote in determining the things this potential master might need. The scarf. Was he ill, or cold? Self-conscious? Certainly it couldn't be for privacy. His identification would have been recorded when he made his appointment to begin with.
There was a long beat of silence. The only noise from the bear's thoughts a faint undercurrent of..attentiveness?
"Well, I'll let you two have a chat, then. I'll be right outside when you're ready." Louise, palpably confident that this would end in a match-- bless her-- scooted herself back out the door, likely to resume her place at the front desk. And it was then that Mikhail finally spoke, voice low, lilting just slightly with a tone that didn't match his name in the least.
"I appreciate your coming to see me." As though he'd invited the other man. Asked him to visit. "How can I assist you?"
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Posted: Mon Jun 12, 2017 12:17 pm
Polite. Well spoken. Poised. Respectful. Quiet thinker, thank god. The eye contact was good. Big. Very big. Gracious. He'd red his specs, of course, but actually being in the same room with Mikhail, the psychic felt even scrawnier than usual. Sitting, the two men were actually close to eye level with each other. But in spite of that, they were nowhere near the same size. Not by a long shot. It was easy to see how others would be intimidated by him, massive and muscled, scarred and bearded. His face seemed stern, but with his rings off it was triflingly easy to get a more accurate read on the bear. For Tobias, his psychic senses were just that - another sense. He used his rings the way an elf might use ear plugs in a crowded space. It dampened the noise, but it was still a manner of feeling that he was using, constantly. He judged a person as much by their energetic and telepathic imprint as by anything else, the way non-psychics would judge people by the way they walked, dressed, how they spoke, and what turn of phrase they used. And the feeling he got from the bear with his rings off then was a kind of quiet, attentive, domestic calm. It was clear as day to him from the moment the larger man entered the room - anyone who had passed the slave over for fear of dealing with a raging animal had made a sore mistake. He was as capable of biting as anything with teeth, but inclined? No. There wasn't even a glimmer. There was no apprehension, no mistrust. It was almost startling, how calm and centered the big man was. It was... refreshing. Most peoples minds were a thunderstorm at least, or a hurricane at worst. Mikhails mind was more like a calm sea shore. There were crashes against the rocks, and there was strength behind it. But there was no turmoil, no storm.
Within the first ten seconds of meeting him, Tobias was already mostly sold.
The problem he had encountered with most slaves was just that - their minds were chaotic, and noisy. And it wasn't their fault. It just wasn't something he could live with. The second problem usually came around this point in the interview, when Tobias started in with being candid with them. The psychic saw no point in being anything less than completely blunt in the interviews. The potentials needed to know what to expect, and he needed to know their honest feelings on it. He nodded back at the bear, speaking firmly through his scarf. His voice was not much muffled by the fabric - it was a light wrap, meant for warmer weather. It was really just there to cover up his face. But (and maybe this was childish, or silly of him) seeing the scar across the bears own face made him feel... oddly a little more comfortable about it. He'd had one or two interviews go south when he showed his face. That big, ugly scar made him look like some kind of overplayed movie villain, and it showed. Tobias' voice was deep and authorative. He tended to use the same deep, firm near monotone with everyone - patients, inmates, clients, and 'friends.'
"Of course." He said simply. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mikhail. My name is Dr.Tobias Aegis. You may call me Dr.Tobias, or simply by my title."
He didn't work all those years on his phd to be called 'sir' after all.
"I'm a psychologist. I work with inmates in Saxons prisons in conjunction with the Division."
What he was really doing now was watching, feeling, for Mikhails reactions to this information. A persons feelings and reactions would tell him more than their words and answers did. He nodded at his crutches, resting against the side of his chair.
"As you can see, I'm disabled. I have a form of muscular dystrophy that affects by back, and the use of my legs. I get along well enough right now, but in a few years I'll only get weaker. It's likely I'll end up in a wheelchair by the time I'm in my forties. So, I'm looking for an aide. I'll end up needing help getting around. Someone on hand to peel me off of the floor if I stumble and help attend me when I get weaker. I'm also looking for someone to make my life easier in other areas as well. I have a number of patient records that I need to keep track of and organized, basic filing work. I'm sure you could handle it plenty well. Your other duties would mostly consist of common chores, chauffeuring, standing by me at social functions and generally just being on hand. I'll teach you how to make proper tea as well, but that's a minor detail."
He says 'teach' because he tends to just assume that people will do it wrong. Because they always do. He was always very particular about his tea.
"I'm also a psychic."
This was the part where slaves usually started squirming. Not many liked the idea of living with a person who was privy to all their thoughts. He watched, felt, for Mikhails reaction carefully.
"So I would be frequently contacting you via telepathic means, since my mobility is limited. It also means that, while I enjoy people, I also require reprieves from them, just to get away from the noise of it. And it makes me a little sensitive to certain stimuli. So, as you can see, my needs are somewhat... specific. These are the basics of what you can expect from me, and being in my service."
He keeps his cool grey eyes on the bear.
"How does that sound to you? Is it the sort of position you can see yourself comfortable in for the next several decades? If you have any concerns or questions, please, ask me. It's better that everything is as clear as possible now rather than later."
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Posted: Thu Jun 15, 2017 6:40 pm
Mikhail sat, the whole massive frame of him dwarfing the chair, and looked across the table with calm attention. Everything hinged on this meeting. A slave as old as the bear had no guarantee of finding a master in a market where the prevailing trend was still to purchase someone young to grow up alongside a beloved child. The chance dwindled even more with the mark on his records.
But there were promising signs. Or maybe the bear was only wishful thinking.
Although the blonde across the table was slim-- he needed someone more attentive to see that he ate-- it didn't take more than a moment for Mikhail to realize that they were of a height. Rare, in itself. He'd worried before he stepped into the room that this prospective master would be just as diminutive as the one who'd run hurriedly out of his last meeting. The bear was aware of how he appeared to others. Big and ungainly, strong and scarred and scowly. Intimidating. Master Albert had put those traits to use after the Fontaines had been forced to sell the last of their Avalanche stock, and Master Ernest had played it up as a means of entertainment, but mostly it had only ever made people uneasy. But the blonde didn't seem to be troubled at all. And so, although he tried to tell himself not to expect too much, not to let his hopes get too high, it was a little late for that. Mikhail's hopes were already a sight taller than the man himself. Even though the bearded man was outwardly composed, his mental signature was probably closer to that of a shelter dog tentatively tick-tocking its tail back and forth.
My name is Dr.Tobias Aegis.
The bear listened, nodding in places to show that he understood, but never interrupting verbally. Part of it was training-- the simple, overwhelming imperative that when a master was speaking, he was meant to listen. But the rest was the direct manner of the man's speech. There was a solid quality to the doctor's voice that made Mikhail feel grounded. Aegis didn't waffle or pause, and everything he said seemed to serve a purpose, requiring the bear's focus. It was structured. The man didn't meander from topic to topic, simply filling time with words that meant nothing. No. He was outlining the details of his existence-- the particulars of his situation, which it would be necessary to know only if he still had some interest in procuring Mikhail as a servant.
There was only a slight change, somewhere around the bear's eyes, when the blonde mentioned the prison system. Something like concern. Already, he was beginning to think of the man sitting across from him as his own master, regardless of the silent admonitions that he mustn't set himself up for disappointment when he was passed over. But obviously Aegis required a slave to care for him. That much was plain. Although, curiously, in the bear's mind, the connections to that need were oddly mundane. He heard and understood what the doctor was telling him-- that his condition would deteriorate over time, that he would lose more of his mobility eventually. But the points Mikhail had settled on were separate from the crutches leaning against the blonde's chair. Someone needed to feed Aegis better than was presently the case. Someone-- and apparently prison guards weren't good enough for the task-- needed to deter inmates from any kind of violence in the doctor's presence. The bear could certainly help him from place to place, as needed. Could certainly file folders and tend to the blonde's home. He could be a companion and a driver and yes, make a damn fine cup of tea. All of these things were well within Mikhail's capabilities, but there was a difference between knowing that himself and having a master express confidence that he could be of service. He'd missed it, keenly. Not just serving, but the inherent trust that was necessary for a master to allow him to serve.
I'm also a psychic.
The bit of information that made others fidget was the one that seemed to make Mikhail feel.. relief? He let out a breath that would have become a sigh for anyone else. But the resulting sound was strange and inhuman. A low rumbling mrrrr from deep in the barrel of his chest. Not a growl, but something that would probably be interpreted as one by someone who could only hear the noise and not the gratitude behind it. For Mikhail, who spent half a decade as a bear and nothing else, there were entire swathes of social behavior that were only possible for him because of the careful work of psychic mages. And although a reformed slave might be uneasy with a master that was aware of their every thought, Mikhail couldn't quite understand why. He wasn't just a bred slave-- he'd been raised with the mindset that he was property, down to the last degree. If a master could read his thoughts, then they had a right to them, because they were owned just as much as the bear himself.
How does that sound to you?
There was no way to answer the question without sounding foolish. To be offered a home. To be considered by a master who would be able to understand his intentions regardless of his outward appearance. It was more than he'd even thought to hope for, and irrationally some corner of his mind worried that if he said the wrong thing now, it would all be swept off the table. He couldn't possibly just say, Yes. I will serve you til I'm dead if you let me. You will have my gratitude for the rest of my life. So what made it past his mouth, for better or worse was--
"How do you take your tea?"
Which meant about the same.
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Posted: Sat Jun 17, 2017 1:06 am
He observed, felt, for the bears reactions carefully. His meetings with potentials had always been terribly brief. After all, he never had to sort out what was for show and what was the truth. He never had to guess how they actually felt about who he was, what he did, or what he could do. His decision was usually made by that point in the interview. He would nod, politely thank them for their time, and explain that they weren't quite the fit he was looking for. It could be off putting, when the potentials had hardly been given a chance to say more than three words. There was simply no need for it. Tobias had little use for words, which was unfortunate, since the socialites of his upper-class circles loved few things more than words. The only exceptions were, generally, other psychics. Tobias had yet to meet any psychic who got along with others. He didn't like psychics. Psychics didn't like him. He always felt uncomfortable whenever he attended any of the soirees at the St.Jude compound. Even when he went there on his frequent 'business' meetings with Lyndon, he could feel the other psychic as the two, mostly, politely did their best to ignore one another. It was difficult, since she had such an expansive range. It was, perhaps, a cosmic irony, that the people who relied less on words than any others, couldn't bond over the fact - they seemed naturally averse to one another. Not at all like the man in front of him.
It was an interesting feeling, the hesitant hopefulness that Mikhail practically radiated. The glow seemed to get warmer by the moment as he spoke. It was an unusual reaction, certainly. The bear seemed to warm up to him about as quickly as he'd decided he liked Mikhail. Tobias wasn't accustomed to such an immediately positive reaction. In a way, he was a great deal like Mikhail. He had a demeanor that struck others as cold, and while his cadence of speech was very grounding for patients, peers tended to find it off putting (with only a few exceptions, such as Lyndon). Even those who opened up to him in time, tended to be a little guarded in their initial reactions to him. It was just the way of things. He could feel the apprehension around the edges of him. Tentative. Not of Tobias, but of... disappointment. If he had to guess, he'd say the bear was accustomed to disappointment. So much so that he couldn't help but expect it. He wanted a place to belong. Not uncommon, per se, but interesting none the less. The concern, a flicker of emotion just out of sync enough to be noticed in Mikhails overall energy, was new. Endearing, really. Aside from his parents, Tobias wasn't accustomed to anyone feeling any manner of protectiveness over him. It wasn't something he thought about on a daily basis. Wasn't something he considered, or wanted, or needed. Yet feeling it was somehow... reassuring. Like something he didn't realize had been missing. He was a grown man, after all. Physically weak, yes, but perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He didn't need to be coddled or defended. Yet... it wasn't such a bad feeling. He took a note of that feeling in his mind, filed it away to be more closely inspected later on. That wasn't what he needed to focus on at the moment.
What he needed to focus on at the moment was the sound Mikhail made across from him. He could easily see how non-psychics might be confused, or even intimidated, by the noise. If he had still been wearing his rings, he may have even wondered if it was a growl meant to be directed at him. But instead he could hear, feel clearly, the emotion welling up behind it. Now that was an interesting reaction. Tobias couldn't recall the last time (had there ever been a time??) that he felt someone react to knowing he was a psychic not only with acceptance, but relief. Who was so honest, so open, that they actually relished the idea of someone being able to see their intentions? While everything else in the interview thus far had been a pleasant surprise, that reaction was genuinely startling, caused the mage to raise his thick eyebrows up somewhat. He didn't think he'd ever garnered that reaction. Maybe there was something to be said for bred slaves. Or maybe it was just what Mikhail personally had lived through. Or, better yet, maybe what he'd thought before was simply being reaffirmed - the worn in types just always suited him better. Tobias could feel the bear sifting through his words in his head, the feeling of his answer already solidified as he tried to pin the right words to express it. The words that eventually came made him smile so genuinely that it even reached his eyes over his scarf.
"How do you take your tea?"
He couldn't have given a more perfect answer if he tried. His mind was made up.
"Strong, usually with honey and nirnroot, to help me sleep."
He said simply. He tugged on his scarf, then, tugging it down and off of his face. From what he'd gauged of Mikhail thus far - and his gauge was usually impeccably accurate - the scar wouldn't phase him. At least not enough to deter his apparent excitement at the prospect of living under him. But he didn't like it to be a shock or a surprise. The motion was casual, as if the garment had just gotten a little too stuffy, and he needed a little air. He continued on casually, as if he wasn't terribly self conscious of the big ugly scar marring half of his face. As if revealing it didn't cause him to brace himself, somewhat.
"Well, Mikhail, without being too presumptuous-" Which, of course, he wasn't. He could see Mikhail as clear as day. "I think you'd be an excellent fit for me. If you could please call Louise back in, I'd like to hurry up and finalize the paperwork."
As simple as that.
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Posted: Sat Jun 24, 2017 7:10 pm
Mikhail's mind was, on most occasions, uncommonly quiet. Part of it, undoubtedly, came from the treatments he'd undergone when the Division took him. A great deal of restructuring had been necessary in order to make him into a man again, where he'd once been only the bear. The way his psyche had been broken down over years, he might never have been right again if left to his own devices. In the first months, he'd needed a mental block in place to keep him from simply shifting back, taking on the massive form to which he'd become so accustomed. The hulking, furred body he'd been ordered into and-- obedient, always obedient-- only thought to leave when he began to forget. What did his hands look like? How did the world smell when he was a man? There were other confusions. Other troubles. Mikhail had always had a master. The Fontaines bred him, and owned him, and sold him, so then he belonged to Master Plourde. But the Division was an organization, not a family. He'd belonged to no one person. Had been given no responsibility, no way to define himself. He was not the bear anymore, but not the man again either. A slave, masterless, taskless. A tool going to rust from lack of use.
And he'd learned to live in that inner silence. If there was a monologue inside Mikhail's head, it surfaced in an odd, reactionary way, like a small fish. There in a gleam of sun on scales, and then back below, into the deep, leaving the surface as calm as ever. More often, there were only ripples. Hints of what was going on beneath. But this situation was rare. Across the table, the doctor smiled in a way that was pleased and approving, and if Mikhail had a tail, it would be wagging. Even before the scarf lowered, the bear's mounting hope had become something of a certainty.
He could enrich this man's household with his service. Would be owned by someone who needed him to be focused and attentive. Someone who wouldn't expect him to sit idle and aimless. He wouldn't be a pet with this man, but a servant in the truest sense, and for Mikhail that meant everything. To have work. To do work. For that work to be toward the comfort of his owner. It had been so long. He'd begun to think that he would die here, in this place, his remaining years an utter waste.
Oh, of course he could be of some assistance, guiding the newlings through their training. Preparing them for homes that he would never see, masters he would never know. But as fulfilling as the bear was sure River found it, Mikhail needed direction. He needed the structure of a master's commands and the quiet pride of looking around a home to find it neat and orderly because of him. And those things were possible now. If he hadn't known it already, it would have been there in the precise details of the doctor's instruction.
Strong. With honey and nirnroot.
The herb wasn't one he recognized off-hand, which meant the blonde had been right before. It was something the bear would have to learn. But rather than giving Mikhail any apprehension, it was somehow reassuring. Aegis' judgment had been sound. And like the psychic's dry tone and direct manner, it served to give the slave a sense that things were coming together. That, in some way, his patience and faith were being rewarded. That--
We match.
It was the first solid, verbal thought that darted across the surface of his mind, and it happened as the scarf was pulled downward. The mark was a twist at the corner of the doctor's mouth, like an elongation of a smile that the man wasn't wearing. It didn't have the livid red stain of the one that marred Mikhail's own face, but there were smaller, outlying scars where the flesh had been stitched together again. Not by a caim, but by hand. And again came the premature protective urge-- absurd, now, because the injury had already been inflicted. Couldn't be undone. But others could be prevented. He gave a low rumble from the center of his chest, that same sound so often misunderstood by others. But, of course, Aegis couldn't misunderstand. The blonde would know that the furrowing of Mikhail's formidable brow wasn't some sign that the mark on his face was hideous. It wasn't. Conspicuous, but not ugly. The bear wasn't disgusted. He was affronted. How dare anyone cause his master that kind of pain?
His master.
Mikhail was being too--
Without being too presumptuous..
For all his hope, and the fact that the interview was going well, it was still hard for the bear to reconcile what he'd wanted with what was happening. For a beat, the dark-haired meta only remained in his seat, wondering if he somehow misheard. Surely there were going to be more questions. Surely he hadn't acquitted himself well by sitting still and barely speaking. But, of course, he didn't need to speak, didn't need to explain. Aegis knew, and what he didn't know, he could find out simply and expediently on his own. All of the things that Mikhail wasn't sure how to explain-- that his social graces were still being refined because, for half a decade, he'd been ordered never to use them. That his size and his strength were not, by any measure, an indication of his temperament. That children made him uneasy, but he felt no fear trying to befriend even the most ferocious dogs. That he had little to no grace, but could be counted upon to always have tea cakes ready. All those things, and everything else besides, the doctor could know if he decided to look. And it was the most comforting feeling in the world.
So the bear rose from his seat, neatly tucking the chair back in under the table. At the same time, his massive body executed the same odd bow he'd made on entering the room in the first place. But this time he held the position for a moment. Grateful. So incredibly grateful.
"I will return shortly."
To an onlooker, it all might have sounded like the most impersonal exchange in the history of the world. There was nothing visibly giddy about the bear. It was hard to tell if his expression had ever changed. But when he stepped out of the meeting room, Louise was only a few feet down the hallway. The elf guiltily combed her hair back over her right ear, which she'd no doubt had cocked in their direction, listening as closely as she was able. From the smile she hazarded, it was certainly close enough.
"Is it time to get you signed over?"
The little woman had always been kind. Always tried to spare his feelings in the long years when no one had shown any interest in buying an old, reclaimed bear. Now, she looked the way a proud parent might, watching their firstborn toddle into kindergarten. The mental image was ridiculous-- Mikhail outstripped her by a little more than a decade-- but it was written there on her face when she tugged a manila folder out from under one arm. Hard copies of all the pertinent records, no doubt. Mikhail's Division file, listing everything from his height to the date of his last hangnail (almost), a work-up of his psychic modifications and leash protocols, and all of the registration and payment paperwork that would be necessary for the practical aspects of the bear changing hands. And Louise had been holding it all with her in the corridor, like doing so would will a happy result into existence.
"..I will need to have my chip modified." A mild concern. The bear was bred to take a certain amount of pain, but the first time had been tricky because of its placement, and had required a small surgery. The doctor said he'd like to hurry on the paperwork, and Mikhail didn't want his first action as the blonde's property to be making the man wait, even if it was for something not really within his control. But the elf patted his forearm consolingly, tutting as she shooed him back through the doorway and into the meeting room again.
"We do all of that remotely nowadays." She chirped, leafing through the contents of the folder in her arms, not yet looking up. "So don't worry at all. You should be able to go home in just a bit, as soon as everything is signed and we give Mr. -- doctor-- Aegis an overview about your condition and needs."
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Posted: Mon Jun 26, 2017 1:59 pm
177772
All the while, Tobias watched, felt, listened, intently. His grey eyes gave it away, always direct, level with the bears. His gaze ever faltered or wandered. He tended to devote all of his attention to one person, thing, or task at a time. He learned young that it was much too easy for a psychics mind to wander. Those with less discipline than himself could hardly hold on to one train of thought before bounding off to another. It made them terrible communicators, and that just wasn't something that was acceptable in the Doctors line of work. So he tuned out any noise around him (there were some faint echoes of thoughts from others in the building nearby - mere impressions of feeling and intent) and put all of his focus on Mikhail, and the quiet tones of his thoughts. His manner of thought was, admittedly, a very common pattern he encountered in animals. Mostly color, shifting shapes and more raw feeling than anything else. But everyones mind worked a little differently, and Mikhail wasn't the first to have a pattern like this. Some people (loud thinkers especially) thought in words. Strings of jumbled verbal sentences, an endless inner monologue made up of so many run-on sentences. Artists patterns varied wildly from one to the next. Some were very much like Mikhails, a slow rolling of color, impressions, and feelings, while others were like a series of snapshots of memories, places, sounds and short little play-like fantasies, all stuck together with bits and pieces of inner narrative and overtones of emotion, rolling nonstop like a mad flickershow. Some people (business types and mothers, most often) thought in big complex webs that they were always building and rebuilding in their heads, their train of thought constantly trying to connect all the dots just so. It was like trying to listen to one radio when five were playing at once. And some poor sods weren't necessarily quiet thinkers, they just hardly thought at all. Their minds were like tv static, and occasionally you could catch a scene buzzing on repeat, or when they snapped out of their existential haze, you might catch a show or two before it went grey again. There were more of those people than Tobias felt comfortable with admitting. Mikhail wasn't devoid of thought. He wasn't just tuning out his own inner dialogue. Even if he didn't string coherent thoughts together, his mind moved and reacted to everything around him. It was just more feeling than sound. So he didn't hear Mikhail so much as he felt him. Felt the hopefulness rising in him, the comfort, the relief, at the words coming out of his own mouth. Felt how snugly, how perfectly, the bear suited him.
We match.
For the first time in some time, Tobias was caught off guard. He'd been right that Mikhail hadn't recoiled or been disgusted, despite that rumbling noise that the slave repeated at the sight of it. Protectiveness, already. It actually colored the psychics cheeks a little bit, although his expression gave no hint that he was aware of it. He'd never garnered a reaction like that when showing his face. He'd gotten pity, mostly. Sometimes shock, disgust, fear, even. But mostly pity. It was funny, the psychic hadn't thought those words, exactly, but it was a somewhat similar feeling to when he saw the scar on the bears face. A kind of reassurance.
So it was almost cute, the way the bear seemed shocked when he asked him to fetch Louise. But of course he did, and again he executed that odd little bow before he left. Once he was left alone in the room, the doctor sighed, running a hand through the shaved parts of his hair and pulling his scarf up once again to cover up his face. Louise was sweet, but her reaction wouldn't be as endearing as Mikhails, and he didn't want her pity to dampen his mood.
"You're being too hasty." He muttered to himself out loud. And even though it was true, he silently retorted, 'Yes, but I'm also right.' He probably should have asked more questions. About the reclaiming and why. About how he felt about it. About his previous masters and what he'd done for them. About family or friends he'd had before. But part of him was looking forward to finding those things out slowly, organically, over time. And even without those questions, he could just feel so easily how well Mikhail suited him. He wouldn't regret it. There was no second-guessing to be done. And there was none as Louise and Mikhail stepped back in to give him the necessary overviews and leash protocols required by law. Being called mister was a mild annoyance, but small enough and corrected quickly enough that it did nothing to dampen his mood.
His whole job was stacks of paperwork and formalities, and Aegis was well-enough acquainted with the Divisions systems that he knew the basics of what to expect. Normally, he was putting slaves in the system rather than taking them out, admittedly. But it sped things along well enough. He nodded to show he understood, had no need to ask any frivolous questions. He already knew. He signed every dotted line without hesitation, and quietly worked two of his rings back onto his fingers after a little bit. Louise was sweet but urh, her thoughts were loud and distracting despite his best efforts. Soon enough everything was finalized, simple as that. Goodbyes were said and since, like most slaves, Mikhail didn't really own much to bring with him, they were outside the facility doors before the sun had cleared the evening sky.
It was done. Dr.Aegis owned a bona fide slave. Had finally found someone who fit him. Shifting on his crutches he had to glance up at the bear because of how he slouched in them, but only slightly.
"Let's get you out of the greys, first." He stated simply "We'll need to get you a few suits tailored for the formal events, but that can wait until tomorrow. We'll get you every day clothes before anything else, and then we can grab a few amenities for your room and make sure you have all of the basics. Then we can move forward from there." As he spoke, he walked back to his car, a very modest silver four door, and unlocked the doors, waving Mikhail to the passenger side. "We should get something to eat before we head home as well. Now, Mikhail, there's one more thing I'd like to make very clear to you." He paused as he slid into the drivers seat, putting his crutches in the back and buckling in, waiting for the bear to follow suit before he continued. "If, at any point, you have questions or concerns, or even - especially - if you disagree with me about something, you'll speak up to me about it. If history has tried to teach us anything, it's that many disasters could have been avoided if those in power had listened better to the concerns of those beneath them. I may disregard your concern, but it's better that I know you have it so I can tread more carefully. And I mean this about anything, whatever it may be about. I want you to tell me. Understand?"
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Posted: Thu Jun 29, 2017 7:25 am
It took all of an hour for the way he'd lived his life for five long years to change completely.
The paperwork was a simple enough process, Louise reading off the pertinent and necessary pages to ensure that the doctor was well aware of the rights and protections afforded to a registered slave. It was impossible for the man not to know, but the legal aspects of a transaction like this were clear enough, and could only be bent a very little to accommodate the blonde's time. It was painfully obvious that Aegis didn't want to go through the tedium of having every detail in the bear's file recounted to him, so the elf provided him with digital and physical copies to go over at his leisure. And, as she'd promised, it was a simple enough business to update the permissions and information stored on Mikhail's government issue chip. Louise did it herself from the cuff bracelet she wore on her right arm-- enchanted and encrypted so that only she would be able to use it to access the main terminal. The process had become so streamlined over the years that it appeared to share all the hallmarks of activating a cellphone. And the bear was grateful. Because although he kept himself composed and silent, inwardly he was eager to begin. A new life, with a new master. One who seemed already pleased with him. A surgical removal and replacement of his chip-- which had been necessary just ten years ago to facilitate a change in ownership-- would have delayed that. Instead, the metamorphose might yet be able to make dinner before it got too late.
They moved through the front lobby, the bear offering Louise his last bow before falling into step to the right of, and one stride behind, his master. It was only proper. And there was a quiet contentment to it. Being where he belonged. Where he'd been bred to be. The only loose thread in this day was in the only goodbye he didn't get to give. Mikhail had looked for her when he was dismissed to gather his things-- which amounted to just a single, red spiral notebook in which he practiced his handwriting. But River was out for the last several days. She was-- and Louise wasn't supposed to tell him this, but he was such a good bear and it was his big day-- out on a rescue, and working with the police and it was all perfectly safe, but she would probably be late, so he shouldn't worry at all. Not a bit. River was always very careful, wasn't she? Oh, my, yes, and it wasn't as though she wouldn't be working alongside the SCPD.
And she would be happy for him, even if she didn't get to see him. He must remember that. It was time to go. He had been waiting for this for so long. River would understand better than anyone else ever might.
Let's get you out of the greys, first.
Mikhail nodded, the very smallest hint of a smile hidden somewhere in the middle of his beard. He'd been wearing Division greys-- scrubs in a utilitarian no-color-- for half a decade now, and it would be pleasant to transition to something else. But there was a vague discomfort at the mention of suits. It would be necessary, in order for him to attend events with his master without being seen as an embarrassment, but the bear had always been.. big. And formal clothing, no matter how tailored to his bulky body, had made Mikhail feel like a joke even as a young man, when he hadn't been quite so broad across the chest and shoulders. Now, at the beginning of his forties, he had all the same strength, but his middle had softened a bit, a natural consequence of age, and that was bound to make him seem even more ungainly. It was certainly something he could work on, but not for a fitting that would take place the following day. Still, he would bear with it-- pun not intended. The doctor was being kind to him, considering his needs and wellbeing first, and although he looked like a bull in a china shop Mikhail had always taken great pains in the past to avoid shaming the young Fontaines at gatherings where he'd played the intimidating figure. He would wear the suits, and do his duty. Do everything in his power to acquit himself well, and affirm his master's decision in purchasing an old bear. So he nodded in simply acquiescence to the itinerary being presented to him, following the blonde through the lot and into the car-- only natural, since even a slave needed to be an insured driver, and such particulars hadn't been handled just yet. He'd been ready to aid the younger man, but it was obvious that Aegis was accustomed to accomplishing these things on his own, and there was a quiet respect banking the concern that rose as the bear watched his owner slip behind the wheel. The bear himself sat carefully, knees practically against the dash, and extended the seatbelt almost to its full length just to be able to click it into place.
Now, Mikhail, there's one more thing I'd like to make very clear to you.
The metamorphose turned slightly, so that he could look the blonde in the eye when he spoke. He was expecting this. Every master had one rule that they wanted obeyed foremost. For some, it was a house law, or a behavioral law, or an appearance law. But there was always something that they valued almost to the exclusion of all other things. And perhaps he should have expected that this master's request would be as singular as Aegis himself was shaping out to be, but the bear was still surprised. He was being asked to question. He was being asked to speak up. They were things he'd never had requested of him before. Master Plourde had detested the idea so much that he'd ordered Mikhail to remain a bear at all times, just to make certain that he would be incapable of speech.
But it wasn't going to be like that anymore.
"Then, if permitted." He began, sitting calmly in the small space, broad hands palms down, resting on his thighs. It was an oddly placid posture for such a massive man."I would prefer to save you the cost of a bed, if it hasn't been purchased already. There are times-- not always-- when I shift in my sleep, and most furniture isn't rated for that much weight."
A pause, and he seemed embarrassed to have to make the clarification.
"It isn't dangerous. I don't attack anyone."
There are plenty of mental locks in place to prevent the bear from wandering while he's asleep. Effectively, it's a heightened level of sleep paralysis, which is perfectly normal. Still, even without it, Mikhail doesn't have a desire to harm anyone without a reason. But that can be difficult to explain when one wakes up wearing seven hundred pounds of muscle, fur, teeth, and claws. Others have been understandably unsettled, particularly given his history.
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Posted: Thu Jun 29, 2017 2:35 pm
177772
As soon as Mikhail was in the car, Aegis started up the engine. Before pulling off, however, he carefully worked his remaining rings back onto his fingers. While reading minds was great for driving in theory, since no one knew how to use their turn signals, the reality was that the constant clamor of people contemplating their lives as they sped past and around him on every side was both maddening as well as entirely distracting. So with his telepathic receiver effectively muted, he moved to release the parking break, but paused briefly again.
"Ah, the lever is to the right of your seat if you'd like to adjust it so you've got a little leg room."
And with that, he pulled out of the parking lot. Once they were moving, the doctor tugged down his scarf again, since it really was easier to breathe with it down. He didn't take his hands off of the steering wheel, but instead just used a small telekinetic tug to move it out of the way. Little things like that were how he most often utilized his telekinesis on a daily basis. Pulling teacups closer, holding multiple files open at a time, turning pages while he took notes. Things of that nature. It was so second nature to him that he hardly took notice of it these days. He listened carefully to Mikhails singular request about the bed. As if the cost was an issue. Still, the bear was considerate, at least. Although sleep-shifting was interesting. He'd seen it a couple times here in there with metamorphose inmates. It caused some trouble within the prison system, since the use of powers was strictly forbidden. But he could see how shifting into a full grown bear in the middle of the night may not be ideal for the survival of any furniture he happened to be upon. He took a left, driving out of the nicer district and into a district that was not necessarily seedier, but clearly worn a little more thin.
"I see. As it stands, I've had the room set up - bed and all - for some time now. I can have it moved easily, of course. We can rearrange it or simply get rid of it, whichever suits you better, since it is your space."
At Mikhails mention that he won't attack anyone, Aegis' tone softens the barest bit.
"In any case, I won't be frightened of you in your shifted form, Mikhail. I know you don't mean anyone any harm. Feel free to shift whenever it suits you. As long as you still complete your tasks, it's of no consequence to me. I'll still be able to communicate with you either way."
And even though he disliked having animal hair everywhere, cleanup would be worlds easier with Mikhail helping him, so it hardly mattered. He was actually fairly curious about Mikhails bear shape, given his history. How much did his perceptions and feelings change? What psychic blocks were implemented? Did he have negative associations with the form? Silently, he reprimanded himself. Mikhail wasn't another case study. He learned years ago not to treat his personal relationships as such. The scar on his cheek itched slightly. The drive was relatively short as Aegis pulled into a parking lot covered in cracked asphalt and potholes. A blue awning spanned over a dinky little storefront.
'Here we are. Hop on out, this is our first stop." The psychic had to move in a specific order to get out of the car. First shifting his legs over the side of the seat, then reaching back and grabbing his crutches, situating them, and then exiting with the support. Soon enough, Mikhail would be familiar enough with those little routines to help him. But for now, Aegis focused on getting him situated. He closed the car door behind him. "This is where I get most of my own clothes. In fact I got this scarf and this jacket here, as I recall."
The thrift shop was obviously a much more run down shanty than any place most respectable upper-class folk would ever dream of going near, much less patronizing. But Aegs seemed right at home as he stepped inside. The rows of second hand clothes were tightly packed from wall to wall, and it smelled a bit like an old attic.Everything was arranged by gender and size, so Aegis nodded over to the mens section.
"Over here. We'll need to get you a few shirts and pants to start with. Just pick out whatever you like. Best if you're comfortable."
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