The Bonds of Friendship
 

It was the middle of summer in Mareydland, and yet, though the morning was bright, the air was damp and a little chilly, as it almost always was. Sixteen-year-old Sarai waited outside of her friend's door. She had never been to the slave market before, and with passionste, occasionally violent protestors, attempts at self-emancipation that often turned bloody, and a few sleazy jerks to worry about, the two had agreed to go together. Fortunately, they weren't here to bid on slaves. They'd served in the war of self-defense against Uniosen in their own way, and they'd been allowed to choose the form of payment they received from the royal family of Mareydland.
Sarai was as nervous as she was excited, for she'd asked for a slave who possessed some artistic talent, and she and her friend would get to choose from and array of talented people. She herself was a painter and a storywriter, and in this way she hoped to possibly gain an apprentice of sorts.

The morning began in normal fashion: a blinding light entering the dark sleeping quarters as the guards drew open the doors. Relia had somehow gotten used to the routine. Not a year ago, she had been a quiet, studious girl of fifteen in a small village in south Uniosen. She had certainly been poorer than the average citizen of neighboring Mareydland, but life had been quiet and content. Ever since she had been captured by the advancing columns, however, degradation had become the norm, and she had accepted it. She was lined up with the other female slaves and marched out of the barracks under the watchful eye of truncheon wielding guards. Instead of being marched to her usual display cell, she was taken another direction, towards the more prominent of the display areas. Her hopes sank as she was separated. When the reached the tall, gallows-like pole, none of the four girls selected had to be told to strip off their meager rags. Wrist secured by ropes above her, she was hoisted to the tips of her toes. She resigned herself to a day of oogling and the occasional pinch to the rear.

Putting prisoners of war on display in a sexual manner, degrading them, keeping them in jail-like lodging quarters and allowing potential buyers to touch them were all illegal, and forcing sex on slaves was also against the law. It's sad to say, though, that many people just didn't give a crap, and slave markets often were poorly supervised by the authorities. It was for this reason that slave markets were considered some of the most disturbing, depraved places to visit. Often only the lowest, most shameless types of people visited them. Others shunned slavery or sent employees to do the buying for them, too ashamed to be seen in these facilities.
Sarai continued to wait for her friend till she began to wonder if he'd changed his mind. Would she have to go alone?

Relia didn't have to wait long for the markets to open. Within minutes of her being strung up, throngs of people flooded the cramped streets, filling every stall and corner. The noise soon became an indistinguishable roar of laughing, crying, haggling, and the sound of blows being delivered. Before long, numerous interested patrons began to crowd around the stand she was tied to to examine her and the other girls there. Hands touched her all over, occasionally leaving a pinch or a blow on her exposed skin. She just hoped that at some point she would be relieved and be sent to the normal cells in relative peace.

(That was really well written and descriptive. But will Sarai's friend come out any time soon?)

(oh, sorry, she can. ill do it in the next post)

(I thought he was going to be male.)
Christiana was a girl of thirteen, red-headed, green-eyed, too thin for her age and flat of figure. For this reason, she hadn't been displayed as some of the older, more developed girls had, and, in fact, she didn't even know these things happened. She sat in her cell and stared at every passerby. She delighted in doing and saying things to startle the people who never gave her even a second glance and in confusing them with jokes and mind-bending questions.

(oh yeah duh sorry)
Aboran quickly stepped out of the house, nearly tripping over Sarai on the way out. "Hey! Sorry I'm late, I had to find the vouchers. Are you ready to go?" He was a mix of excited and nervous; he had never considered buying a slave until the voucher arrived as a token of gratitude from the government. But now, the idea intrigued him. "Do you have any idea what kind you want to get?" At sixteen, he didn't mind the idea of a pretty girl required to fulfill his every wish.

Sarai set off, immensely relieved that he hadn't chickened out on her.
"I do." Her face brightened. "I want someone whos not only some kind of artist, but is also good at it."

Aboran nodded. "That sounds like something you would like. I don't know. My cousin got one to help him clean, and that seems to be working out for him. Though I don't want a really expensive one. I don't have the money to pay taxes on it."