… will see you now

DING

John stepped forward off the elevator into Francis Beauregard’s office. Bartholomew, or Alexios as a quick Observe revealed, had remained silent the entire ascent, not even questioning why John was there so quickly after his interaction with Sarah. Nope, Alexios had just stayed silent, watching John like a hawk. Even now the big minotaur walked into the office, standing off in one corner to keep an eye on John.

Speaking of the office, it was far more reminiscent of the ground floor rather than the cold basement where the slaves were kept. Soft lighting against light brown wood, bookshelves and comfortable chairs, a large mahogany desk with papers awaiting approval, it reminded John of the principal’s office back at Ashcroft. Though this one was significantly more ritzy.

Plus this one had booze. And while he couldn’t prove that his principal was hiding booze on school grounds, he also couldn’t disprove it.

Francis looked up and smiled, standing up from his desk and gesturing John to come over. “Mr. Preston! I didn’t expect to see you so soon! Was Sarah not to your liking?”

John walked over, taking a seat in one of the chairs across from Francis. “Oh, she was. But I didn’t want to indulge too much. Don’t want to cheat on my woman.”

Francis nodded, walking over to the wall housing many bottles of ****. “And you should be applauded for such loyalty! Believe me, I’ve known dozens of men who wouldn’t keep to such morals if given the opportunity. I should have asked before I assumed.” He grabbed a bottle of some dark liquid and a set of glasses. “But even a taken man such as yourself can agree that Sarah is as beautiful as a rosebud, and as sensual as a million dollar whore. Best harpy I’ve ever owned.”

“Oh, trust me, it was… difficult to hold myself back,” John said, though in his mind he was retching at this man talking about his **** as such. She was property to him, and he had to remind himself that he had to play nice with this man for now. Even if that meant pretending to be a monster. “But if my dear love is okay with playing with others, perhaps I shall indulge if given the opportunity again.”

“And you should be quick to do so! One of the few good traits these demis have is being quite skilled in the realms of pleasing men such as us.” Francis poured both himself and John a drink, passing the cup to John. “Now, I have a few bits of business to discuss with you, including that debt that my club now owes to you. But before I talk business, I always share a drink with my associates!” Francis lifted the cup and gestured for John to do the same.

John took in a breath. He had never drunk **** and didn’t want to seem a fool in front of this man. He had tried **** a couple of years ago when Alex had swiped some beers from her dad for him and Cho to try. It had tasted like piss and vomit, and John had nearly thrown up after just a sip. This whiskey (he assumed) would hopefully not taste nearly as bad.

“A toast,” Francis said. “To business and profit and good fortune!”

“Cheers!” John said, lifting his glass before taking a sip. The whiskey burned going down, but didn’t taste that bad. It was very smokey and woodsy and rich, and made John think of all those ads that would sell the idea how their **** was barrel aged or whatnot. John had to suppress the urge to cough but managed (just barely) to hold himself back.

‘Ha. Ha. Ha. Thank you, Gaia,’ John thought, quickly dismissing the popup before Francis could notice John’s diverted attention. “Very good choice of liquor, sir.”

Francis smiled, placing his glass down before pushing his glasses a bit further up onto his face. “Now then, with that out of the way, my first question to you is this.” Francis leaned forward, the glare of his glasses hiding his eyes. “Would you like to tell me your actual name now?”

John’s blood ran cold, and he tried to spout out an excuse or a denial but before he could even utter a word, Francis held his hand up to stop John. “Sir, I’ve been a member of the Springfield community for years. I’ve met most of the prominent families and I have visited every business of note here. I know the Preston family, and I have even met young Harvey Preston before. So please, spare me whatever drivel you were going to come up with about how you’re a Preston and just tell me who you really are.”

John gulped. “I… I only did that to stay safe. I didn’t know what this place was, and if giving my name out would be potentially hazardous.”

“And it was a very smart move,” Francis replied. “If this had been a den of demon worshipers or some secret Order bunker, giving a false name would have been the only course of action to keep you safe. But you can clearly see this is a reputable business, one that gives respect to those who show accordance with our laws and trust in our system. So please, if we are to continue in an amicable fashion, please just tell me your name, son.”

John didn’t want to, but he had no idea how honest this guy was about what he knew. So he had to be honest. “Johnathan Newman, sir.”

Francis looked off at nothing, rubbing his chin in thought. “Newman… Newman… Newma- OH! Are you Brenda’s boy?”

“You know my mom?”

Francis nodded. “Of course! I’ve gone to her bakery many a time! As a Georgian man myself, I thought that no Yankee could ever make a cola cake that could come close to a proper southern one. But by God did she manage to knock my socks off! I do hope she plans to make that again, and possibly bring back that Key lime pie that she made last summer. Made my heart sing when I had a slice of that.”

John could not help but smile as his mom’s baking skills were praised. He would have to tell her about this guy later, to get a read on who Francis was from his mom as well as impart some compliments to her as well. “I’ll be sure to let her know, sir.”

“Now, if you’re Brenda’s boy... If memory serves, you should be in Ashcroft currently. I remember your mother having a small shindig to celebrate your admittance.” Francis’s eyes went wide and he snapped his fingers. “Ah, that's why you used the name Preston! You and his son are school mates.”

“School mates implies we like each other. Or can stand one another.”

“Ah, a classic nerd and jock relationship, is it? Well, that makes your usage of his name even smarter.” Francis took a sip of his whiskey. “So then, Mr. Newman, now that we have proper names and introductions out of the way, I must offer you my most sincere thanks.”

John raised an eyebrow in confusion. “For what?”

Francis smiled. “Why, for helping me get rid of those damnable wastes of magic from my club! I’ve been wanting to find a reason to kick Mr. Skinner from the club for a while, but Mr. Adkins always managed to find a way to keep that man around. Bless his heart, but he really needs to learn a lesson about the company he keeps.”

“Why didn’t you just… kick them out on your own?”

“Because as I mentioned, the club has rules. And if I refuse to follow those rules, I would lose the respect of every man and woman in this place,” Francis explained. “I may have founded The Silver Collar, but my position of power is only maintained due to the members of the club respecting and fearing me. If I start kicking out people because of my own feelings, I lose that respect and, potentially, that fear. I must adhere to the rules set in place, even if inconvenient.”

‘But not the basic law of respecting the dignity and humanity of your fellow man. Or the law that slavery is illegal,’ John thought, but did not dare to say that opinion. Instead, he asked Francis, “So I managed to give you that reason you were looking for?”

“And should be thanked for doing so!” Francis said with a smile. “Now if those boys want to get back into the club, not only are they going to have to pay a hefty price to get in, but I will be able to regulate more on what they can or cannot do. Hell, maybe Adkins will be the only one to come back. But I won’t hold my breath.” Francis reached over, grabbing a small piece of paper and jotting down a quick note. “Therefore, Mr. Newman, I am wanting to not only repay the debt the club now owes to you, but reward you for doing me this service, even if unintentional.”

“Well, that's very kind but yo-”

“Now now, son. I always repay my debts and I always reward those who help me. No backing out of it.” Francis walked over to John, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Now, for most men I would offer a cash reward and call it there. Perhaps some vouchers for the services we offer here. But you aren’t a full member of the club, aren’t you?”

“No, sir,” John said, and for a moment he wanted to add, ‘and I don’t want to be,’ but then he thought about it. This place was evil, supporting an institution that brought nothing but pain and suffering upon its victims. But if he wanted to take it down, he would probably need to learn more about how this institution worked. And he would need to figure out how many slaves there were to free, or if there was some magical thing that was preventing them from being free. So more than likely, he needed to be an agent on the inside. As much as he hated the idea. “But I would be interested in becoming one,” he said with a fake smile.

Francis grinned. “Then do I have good news for you,” He snapped his fingers, and at that moment a doorway from behind his desk opened up. In strolled a variety of girls, of all different colors and sizes. A harpy, a bee girl, a goblin, and what looked to be a dryad stood closest to John, while just behind them were a girl satyr and a bunny girl. They were all dressed in rather skimpy outfits, looking at John amorously. “Now, these are some girls from my personal collection. I can assure you every one of them has been trained properly and will be both a hard worker and generous lover, if your woman were to approve. Anna over here,” Francis gestured to the bunny girl, “has spent a great deal of time learning to please women as well as men, so perhaps she would be the best choice for you. Nothing quite like some satisfaction to help someone see sense and reason, and she knows how to bring satisfaction like no other.”

John looked at the six women, unsure of what to do. On one hand, none of these women deserved enslavement. But he also couldn’t take all of them home, as much as his heart (and his loins, even if he hated that he was looking at **** women with lust) wanted to. But then he thought about that lamia from earlier. He could recall her face of terror when she was about to be beaten by Jakob, the horror that was put in her from a simple mistake. Then he remembered that satyr in the cage who made a mistake as well and was tortured for it.

John didn’t want to say no to any of the girls. But he also couldn’t let that lamia be treated poorly for an accident.

“Sir, I’m grateful that you have given me such a generous offer. And while all these girls are lovely, I think I have another **** in mind. I would like to receive that lamia that Jakob and Elliot previously had.”

Francis looked confused, crossing his arms. “That one? Are you certain? She’s improperly trained and prone to fatal mistakes. The girls I am offering you are all trained to the best of my ability and top of the line in terms of quality and breeding. You’d find no better slaves this side of the Mississippi.”

John nodded. “I’m sure. If I were to take one of your offered slaves, while that would be easier for me in the short term, I wouldn’t be learning how to properly train a ****. And if I ever buy a second untrained ****, I’ll have become lazy from not having to train my first one. Additionally, I think it would be a bit of an extra knife-twist to Jakob and Elliot if they were to learn that the very **** that lost them their membership to the club is the one that got me into it.”

That final statement made Francis smile like a proud father listening to his son. “You know, Mr. Newman, I knew there was something I liked about you. A go-getter, wanting to work hard for your own sake, AND willing to take **** in a life well lived? It’s like seeing myself a few decades ago.” Francis chuckled before waving his hand towards the slaves, dismissing them back through the door they came from. He then went back over to his desk, tapping away on a keyboard while checking the sole monitor he had opened up. “Seem’s Sarah is almost done cleaning your new ****. Let me call up Jerimiah so he can write a contract up for us.”

“Does he write up all your contracts?” John asked as Francis pressed another small button on his desk.

“Nearly all of them, at this point. When I bought him, he had a slight bit of skill in magical script, so I decided he would work best as my magical stenographer. It was luck that he also managed to have a brother that was tough as nails. A nice matched set of minotaurs.” At that moment, the elevator to the office dinged and Jerimiah/Kostas came in through the doorway, bowing deeply as he approached Francis and John.

“Good, you finally got here,” Francis said, his voice shifting from the warm grandfatherly tone he had with John to one that was cold and uncaring. “Mr. Newman here is joining the club through the ownership of that lamia I just reacquired. Prepare a contract.”

“Of course, master,” Jerimiah/Kostas said, pulling out a blank piece of parchment from one of the capsules on his belt. The parchment floated in the air, with one of Jerimiah/Kostas’ hands beneath it and the other splayed out in front of the page. Both his hands and eyes began to glow a soft blue light, and as they did, words began to appear on the contract in elegant, flowing script. “Are there any alterations to the standard contract, master?”

“Yes. Give Mr. John- Son, what is your middle name?”

“Benjamin.”

“Give Mr. Johnathan Benjamin Newman here an additional 3 month grace period. To allow him to build up some wealth and get used to our club.” Francis turned to John, explaining, “Normally you would have to start paying club dues after a certain point as well as being open to challenges from other members. But since you are being gifted a membership through my grace, and seeing as I don’t know if your mother’s bakery could match the fees we charge, I’m giving you some extra time to get your feet on the ground.”

“Thank you, sir.”

A few moments passed, with the only sounds being the ticking of a clock and the buzz of magical words appearing on parchment. Francis continued to sip on his whiskey while John read along with the contract currently being written. A lot of it seemed to be by-laws that John would agree to, such as no attacking other members or stealing of club property. However, as the contract reached about 3/4s done, a clause was put in that confused John. “What the hell is a ‘**** sigil?’”

“That is the key part of being a **** owner, at least in the Abyss,” Francis said as he walked over to John’s side. He then tapped Jerimiah/Kostas right on the center of his chest, causing a strange glowing glyph to appear. It was a set of green rings, with tiny letters and symbols between the two rings spinning endlessly. The innermost ring had jagged lines going to the center point, but before meeting the lines shifted in both colour and shape. They went from green to silver, and changed into the shape of a collar. “This is a **** sigil. It is composed of mana from both the current owner of the **** as well as the club owner. As I am Jerimiah’s owner, three quarters of the mana in this sigil is my own. However, since I am also the owner of the club and the man who would have sold Jerimiah to his current owner, I also have the remaining 25% stake in his sigil. But in most slaves, I only have a quarter stake in them.”

“Why?”

“Because it ensures that none of the slaves that have been bought from me would be used in an uprising against me. Decades ago another business ran into some trouble when one of their customers decided that he was tired of paying for the goods and wanted to take them. During this time of confusion and ****, several of the slaves managed to escape and revolt against their betters. They were eventually caught, of course, but such an event happening showed a flaw in the system.” Francis tapped the sigil once more, causing the rings to expand out even further. “On your own ****, the rings will look very similar. However, only the writing here will be green, the color of my mana. The rest of the sigil will be the color of your mana.”

“I didn’t even know mana comes in different colors,” John remarked, watching as the sigil swirled above Kostas’ chest. “Figured it was all blue.”

“It becomes that way after the mana guilds finish properly brewing those potions you’ve seen,” Francis explained. “But in its raw, unfiltered form? There is a veritable menagerie of different colors. There are theories and explanations for why mana is the color that it is, but honestly that should be left to someone from a mana guild. Now, as for the sigil, we use them to demarcate who owns which ****, as well as utilize them for proper punishment of unruly slaves.”

“Punishment?”

Francis nodded. “It will take a bit of practice, but if you focus on channeling your mana through the sigil, it will be able to properly punish the **** for disobedience. However, it is key that you do NOT go overboard with your punishment. The sigil is doing direct damage to their soul, and while that kind of damage will repair itself over time, too much damage can overload the soul and obliterate it entirely. Then you would lose out on your investment and have to acquire a new **** and train them and… well, it is key to ensure your **** stays alive.”

John honestly did not know what to say. This man just told him that the way **** drivers punished their slaves was not through things like whipping or branding or other inhumane tortures of the past, but instead was causing DIRECT DAMAGE to their soul itself, something that sounded at least a million times worse. Not only that, but how casually he mentioned that if you do too much damage to the ****, you would obliterate their soul completely. Not just kill them, just… erase their soul. And the bad part of doing that was that you would lose out on your investment.

John could not help but chuckle at the horribleness of it all. John swore to himself that he was going to burn this place to the fucking ground when he got the chance. And Gaia bless him, he would make sure Francis was inside of it while he burnt it to ash.

“Ah, wonderful! Here is the **** of the hour!” Francis said, clapping his hands together as Sarah brought up… huh. John actually never Observed her to learn her name. He just went to the lamia’s defense and never took the time to find out who she was.

-

Thesaphine “#4237-L” Fida

Class: ****, Fire Mage

Level: 6

RP: ???

-

Huh. She had question marks for her RP with him? She was the same level as him, so he doubted this was some weird thing where she was powerful enough to hide information from his Observe, assuming that was even possible. Maybe she didn't even know how she felt about John. Which he was glad for; considering the side he currently stood on was that of **** owners, he wouldn’t have disparaged her for hating his guts on instinct.

“The contract is complete, master,” Jerimiah/Kostas said, bowing deeply and stepping away from the floating paper. Francis barely paid him any mind, turning to look at the contract and peruse its contents rather quickly. John took the time to also reread the contract, noting the long section describing the rules that he would have to abide by. He would need to take the time to read those more in full, but he didn't see anything that read like, ‘and by signing this contract, we also own your soul and will feed it to an evil crocodile hippo lion.’

“Looks good,” Francis said after a moment, and passed the contract to John. “Simply place your hand on the page, and state your agreement to the terms, and this **** and membership to the club shall be yours.”

“Will I get a copy of the contract?”

Francis nodded. “Once you sign, Jerimiah will give you a copy.”

John nodded, placing his hand upon the contract. As he did so, his hand began to glow purple, with the sigil on Thesaphine appearing right above her chest. Then John began to read, “I, Johnathan Benjamin Newman, do hereby accept membership to The Silver Collar through the acquisition of **** #4237-L. By accepting membership, I also agree to the rules of the guild, as well as the terms and conditions that come with such a membership.”

As John spoke those final words, a purple flash filled the room causing John to close his eyes. When he opened them, his signature had appeared at the bottom of the contract in glowing purple script. Additionally, the sigil on Thesaphine’s chest had changed color, with the rings now being a royal purple. The only part that was the same color was the symbols in between the rings, staying a sickly green.