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timetechs[ Dave can't remember how long he's been in the cage. No, that's a lie. He knows exactly how long. Two months, five days, three hours, twenty four minutes, six, seven, eight, nine — well, you get the idea, seconds. What he can't remember is what's happened for most of the time he's been in it. He probably should. From the rawness of his throat, he's been screaming a lot. But when he tries to think back to anything that hasn't been sitting huddled in the corner, cold bars digging into his back, his mind's just blank.
His mind's blank for a lot of things that've happened. He had a life before the cage, but he doesn't remember much of that. The brief snatches he does, well. It's probably for the best that it's mostly a blank, anyway. There'd been something — someone? — that had mattered, though. That— that he'd lost, he thinks. Every time he tries to pull up the memories, there's only a deep, gaping pit of guilt burrowed into his chest. He doesn't try to remember it much anymore.
Anyway — today's a red fucking letter day, because they're dragging him out of the cage. He still scratches and bites and flails as much as he can, gets a few good hits in — hah, assholes. They're used to him, though. It doesn't take long until they've got a leash hooked to the collar around his throat. They use it to drag him through a scrub down, stick him in clothes that are a little less threadbare than what he usually gets. Hell, they even tie a blindfold around him.
The why becomes apparent real damn quick. He's dragged outside, hears the rustling as they tie the leash to something, and gets shoved to his knees. Even without his sight, he can feel eyes on him. Hears people talking — murmuring about how pale his skin is, how graceful someone else is. Fuck him. They're hiding his eyes from the buyers. He can't tell if it's because they're so freaky they lower the price or because they're a special fucking feature.
His leash gets yanked as someone steps forward, sends him sprawling onto hands and knees. ]
As you can see, sir, he's still unbroken. Be careful handling him.
[ Fuck this. The second this dick's hand gets anywhere near his face he's biting, fuck whatever they do to him for it.
And he means to as he feels the brush of fingers against his cheeks — means to, but he recognizes the voice as the buyer speaks. He doesn't know who it is, but he knows that voice, remembers it— No.
The moment of shock wears off as he shoves the memories away and he turns his head, sinks his teeth into the hand cupping his cheek. And as he hears the barker swearing, as hands close on him, trying to yank him away, well. He'd laugh through the blood if he wasn't so busy locking his jaw to make sure this dick really regrets handling the merchandise. ]
His mind's blank for a lot of things that've happened. He had a life before the cage, but he doesn't remember much of that. The brief snatches he does, well. It's probably for the best that it's mostly a blank, anyway. There'd been something — someone? — that had mattered, though. That— that he'd lost, he thinks. Every time he tries to pull up the memories, there's only a deep, gaping pit of guilt burrowed into his chest. He doesn't try to remember it much anymore.
Anyway — today's a red fucking letter day, because they're dragging him out of the cage. He still scratches and bites and flails as much as he can, gets a few good hits in — hah, assholes. They're used to him, though. It doesn't take long until they've got a leash hooked to the collar around his throat. They use it to drag him through a scrub down, stick him in clothes that are a little less threadbare than what he usually gets. Hell, they even tie a blindfold around him.
The why becomes apparent real damn quick. He's dragged outside, hears the rustling as they tie the leash to something, and gets shoved to his knees. Even without his sight, he can feel eyes on him. Hears people talking — murmuring about how pale his skin is, how graceful someone else is. Fuck him. They're hiding his eyes from the buyers. He can't tell if it's because they're so freaky they lower the price or because they're a special fucking feature.
His leash gets yanked as someone steps forward, sends him sprawling onto hands and knees. ]
As you can see, sir, he's still unbroken. Be careful handling him.
[ Fuck this. The second this dick's hand gets anywhere near his face he's biting, fuck whatever they do to him for it.
And he means to as he feels the brush of fingers against his cheeks — means to, but he recognizes the voice as the buyer speaks. He doesn't know who it is, but he knows that voice, remembers it— No.
The moment of shock wears off as he shoves the memories away and he turns his head, sinks his teeth into the hand cupping his cheek. And as he hears the barker swearing, as hands close on him, trying to yank him away, well. He'd laugh through the blood if he wasn't so busy locking his jaw to make sure this dick really regrets handling the merchandise. ]
