The Boss…

The silence was almost deafening.

The hubbub of the upstairs, the cheering and shouting over the corpse of the cyclops, the hum of the air conditioning, all seemed to stay silent as the well dressed man looked over the scene. He looked to be in his 60s or even older, with wrinkles that spoke to a long well lived life. His greyed hair was a touch longer than that of most men of his age, reaching halfway down his neck while being stylishly pulled away from his face. He also had a very faded beard and mustache as if he had shaved a couple of mornings ago and had forgotten since. His skin was very lightly tanned, with grey eyes peering from behind thin golden glasses. He was dressed in a sharp charcoal grey suit and carried a rather fancy looking cane that seemed to be there for fashion rather than necessity.

-

Francis Q. Beauregard

Class: Augmenter, **** Owner, Club Boss, Top Master

Level: 36

RP: 27

-

Holy shit, that was a high level. Six times higher than John’s own, and he had thought he had an impressive growth over the past few days. Hell, he was over double Moira’s level! If Moira could do halfhearted hits that were stronger than John’s blows, then how strong was this guy? Plus, what the hell was that class? “Augmenter?” What did he augment? His slaves? Himself? Was he secretly Bane underneath that suit? Or maybe he was more mechanical than man?

Francis looked over the scene before leaning his head over towards Elliot. “Mr. Adkins,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding respect all within a southern drawl. “Tell me, isn’t Mr. Skinner here your associate?”

Elliot nodded. “Yes sir.”

“And that **** there. I do recall selling her to you, did I not?”

Again Elliot gave a nod. “Yes sir. About eight months ago now.”

“I see.” Francis walked forward, his footsteps echoing throughout the room. “And tell me, Mr. Adkins. How long have you and your associate here been members of my club?”

“A… About four years now.”

“Well, four years is an awfully long time to be a part of my club and not learn the rules,” Francis said, poking Mr. Skinner in the side, earning a groan.

“Sir! We know and respect your rules! This boy, he-”

“This boy didn’t start a fight. Your associate did.” Francis turned back to look Elliot in the eye. “I can assure you, Jerimiah let me know what happened. Your violent thug of a business partner struck Mr… What is your name, son?”

John blinked, surprised that he was being addressed with such familiar terms. “Um… John N- Preston. John Preston.”

Francis paused for a moment before nodding. “Right. Your associate struck Mr. Preston here first, with Mr. Preston simply choosing to defend himself. It appears your associate made quite the error in regards to Mr. Preston’s strength. Then again, no one has ever known Jakob Skinner of being the brains between the two of you.”

“I didn’t hit him first,” Jakob finally said, having regained his bearings and was now starting to sit up. “This fuckin’ scalie lover decided to step in and tell me how to discipline my fuckin’ ****!”

“And since when has that been an offense punishable by fisticuffs?” Francis shook his head in disappointment. “For Pete’s sake, gentlemen. We are above these sorts of base instincts! We are meant to be something greater than the monstrosities we own! Yet you two act like nothing more than drunk satyrs.”

John looked to the slaves, noting how neither the minotaurs nor the sexy harpy seemed at all shocked or even affected by Francis’ words regarding them being “monstrosities.” Instead Jerimiah continued to write things down on his clipboard, the other minotaur just kept standing there looking intimidating, and the harpy looked almost checked out. Like she was just waiting for her cue to start… doing things again.

“Sir, I swear we-”

“Mr. Adkins, I have tolerated your and Mr. Skinner’s shenanigans for quite some time,” Francis said, holding up his cane in a nearly threatening manner. “You men have often caused quite the commotions within the lounges, and when slaves are recovered from Mr. Skinner’s training, he has often gone too far for them to be properly utilized.”

“Least they listen, though,” Jakob grumbled.

“I am afraid that I cannot allow this violation to slide. Both you and Mr. Skinner will owe Mr. Preston and myself compensation. Mr. Preston for being the injured party, and myself for breaking the set laws of our establishment. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Elliot said begrudgingly.

“...mmm sir,” Jakob grumbled out.

“Fine. Now, as for proper fines… Jerimiah, pull the laws and testaments for our guild? I am afraid my old mind isn’t as sharp as it once was.”

“Of course, sir,” Jerimiah said, reaching over towards his belt. John had not noticed previously, but on Jermiah’s belt were dozens of tiny tubes with various dials and glowing symbols on them. Jerimiah uncapped one of the tubes, and almost instantly a large document sprung forth as if it were simply begging to be released this entire time. The document hovered in the air nearby Jerimiah, who put on a small pair of glasses and began to read, “In the event that a full member of the guild (see subsection C for what qualifies as a full member of the guild’) has struck another member of the guild or a prospective member of the guild, outside of the allowed spaces of an official challenge, the offending party shall owe compensation to the victim as well as the guild for the breaking of the law. The compensation must be equivalent to half a low-class ****’s going price to both the guild and the victim. Additionally, if guild resources were necessitated in the healing or aid of the victim, those materials must be compensated either financially or in equivalent replacement.”

“Well, there you have it,” Francis said with a soft smile. “Simply compensate both Mr. Preston and I with the necessary funds, and we shall be able to wash our hands of this whole situation! Although if Mr. Skinner was the one to throw the first strike… Mr. Preston, are you in need of healing?”

John knew that, at this moment, his best avenue was to simply play along. “Well, sir, my magic does allow me to not show physical harm as easily as other mages, but I can assure you I did take damage from his blow. I could use some slight medical attention.”

Francis tsked, shaking his head in disapproval. “For shame. Really, Mr. Adkins, you should probably put Mr. Skinner on a leash after all of this. It is often what one does with a mad dog, after all.” He then made a dismissive wave to his harpy. “Go get a health potion for Mr. Preston here, and do add it to the running tally of charges that these two owe.”

“Of course, master,” she said with a seductive tone before sashaying off into the darkness. John did note that her hips seemed to have an extra wiggle as she walked away. A quick glance at Francis also showed that John was not the only one who noticed.

“Delightful, isn’t she? Makes me wonder if the NHSG was wrong to classify them as lower class. But then again, in the hands of an artist, even trash can become treasure.” Francis adjusted his posture ever so slightly before turning back to Elliot and Jakob. “Now, as for the two of you. So far you owe the equivalent of one low-class **** and a health potion. I do so hope you have the proper funds for such a fine.”

Elliot was the one who spoke up, having moved to Jakob’s side to help him to his feet. “We will in time, sir. Our financials have been a bi-”

“You seem to misunderstand me, Mr. Adkins.” Francis took a few steps forward, his expression changing from kindly grandfather to stern boss near instantaneously. “I did not ask you for information on your financial situation. I did not ask you for a sob story about how you don’t have a dime to your name. I said you owe Mr. Preston here some money. More importantly, you owe me some money. Now, how are you gonna pay back all that money you owe me and Mr. Preston?”

Elliot looked down to Jakob, who simply offered a shrug. “I… We can’t, sir. We don’t have the money.”

Francis shook his head disapprovingly. “You see, Mr. Preston? It’s folks like this that sully the good name of my club. Folks who don’t understand that we are honorable men and women of business. That trust is important to what we do. And if you go around writing checks you can’t cash, you’ll lose that trust faster than a hot knife through butter.” He then overdramatically took on a thinking posture, tapping his chin in thought. “Now, how do you suppose we get the money you owe me and Mr. Preston?”

Then, Francis snapped his fingers, though it was clear by his tone that he had this idea from the start. “I’ve got it! Mr. Preston, would you be ever so kind as to allow me to accept the debt of these young men in their stead? That way they will only owe me money. We can discuss later about my paying you back what you are very rightly owed.”

John shrugged. “Sure?”

“Fantastic. So good to see young men willing to work with old codgers like me,” Francis said with a slight chuckle. “Now, boys, it would seem that you owe me the price of a low-class **** as well as a health potion. Now, the health potion I am willing to forgive. But as for the ****…” Francis lifted his cane, pointing the end of it at the lamia who was trying to stay huddled up in the corner away from everyone. “It would seem that she would fit the bill.”

“Sir,” Elliot said with a worried look. “She’s our last ****! If we lose her, we lose our membership to the club! We… we wouldn’t-”

“Boys, I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I cannot seem to find another option.” Francis then held his arms out wide, as if displaying his **** generosity. “Besides, I am being gracious enough to ignore the additional cost of the health potion! You boys should be thanking me, if anything! Others would not be nearly as gracious as I in these circumstances.”

“Sir, surely there has to be something else we could offer yo-”

Again, Francis cut Elliot off, “Mr. Adkins, let me try and put it in a way that your insignificant intelligence could understand. You and your associate currently have two options. Your first option is to hand over your remaining **** and leave with some grace and dignity. Your second option is to have me confiscate your **** and have Bartholomew here throw you two to the curb with all the grace and dignity of a rotten sack of wheat. The choice is yours.”

A pregnant pause followed that statement, with neither man budging as they stared each other down. Finally, Elliot let out a sigh and bowed his head. “She’s yours, sir.”

Francis smirked. “So good of you to finally see reason. Jerimiah? Pull up these men’s contract and certificate of ownership.”

“Of course, master.” Jerimiah again reached to his belt, this time pulling another document from a different pouch. John was curious, so threw out a quick Observe onto Jerimiah.

-

Kostas “Jerimiah” of Clan Redhorn

Class: ****, Information Mage

Level: 9

RP: 7

-

John was surprised for a brief moment as he read over the sheet. Jeremiah had a different name? But then he thought about it. It was commonplace in American slavery to take away ****’s names and give them more Anglo-Saxon names, to strip them of their culture and identity. It was no surprise that modern day slavery would keep up such a practice. Though John made the mental note to remember what his real name was rather than this slavedriver name. At least, unless Kostas told him not to. Sure, to hide his powers he would continue to refer to Kostas as Jerimiah while speaking, but he would remember the man’s real name. He deserved that much.

“Here you go, master,” Jerimiah/Kostas said, handing over another piece of parchment. John could not read it from where he was standing, but he did get a brief glance to see a few signatures at the bottom of the paper. Francis read over it, nodding softly before turning it around and walking it over to Elliot and Jakob.

“I, Francis Quincy Beauregard, owner and boss of The Silver Collar, do hereby revoke the ownership of **** #4237-L from Elliot William Adkins and Jakob James Skinner as payment for fines they have accrued as members of the club. With this being their last **** bought from The Silver Collar, Elliot William Adkins and Jakob James Skinner shall both revoke their membership to The Silver Collar.” He then offered the paper to the two of them. Elliot sighed, holding his hand up and placing it upon the paper. Instantly the place where they met began to glow a bright silver color. After a moment or two, Jakob joined in the same action, a similar glow also emanating where his hand and the paper met.

The paper then began to glow brighter and brighter, to the point where John had to squint slightly due to the light. Then the light vanished, and the paper turned to ash between the three men. “Thank you for your business, gentlemen,” Francis said with a smile. “Now, please go collect your things and vacate the premises. I do not want to see you in my club unless you have found a way to earn your way back in here, and considering the history you will have with the club, that is going to be quite the obstacle to overcome.”

Jakob and Elliot didn’t even say a word. There was no need. They simply turned, walked towards the stairs, and left the club behind. After, of course, they threw a rather hateful glare at John. It seemed that John had managed to make himself a couple of enemies, but he didn’t mind. He beat the shit out of Jakob for what he was about to do to the lamia, and he would gladly do it again.

“Now, with that all out of the way- Oh wonderful, thank you, Sarah.” The harpy **** from earlier had returned, carrying a red potion bottle that was about the size of a hip flask. “Please give that to Mr. Preston. And ensure he enjoys it. Then I will need you to take Mr. Adkins and Mr. Skinner’s former **** to go get cleaned up and brought to my office.”

“Of course, sir,” the harpy said almost in a purr.

“Mr. Preston, after you have indulged in the pleasures of that potion and the one delivering it, please do come up to my office. Elevators are over there, and I will have Bart waiting in there for you.” He gave a quick nod to his two minotaurs, who quickly joined him at his sides and almost escorted him through the cages. “See you soon, Mr. Preston.”

John turned to the harpy girl, and his jaw nearly fell to the floor. She had been dressed in something John would have described as a “**** Leia” top earlier, but it had since been discarded. Now she was standing there, topless, pressing her tits together around a now open health potion bottle. “Master,” she said, licking her lips. “You got hurt being a hero. Please, allow me to help cure your wounds. And whatever else might ail you.”

John had never seen a pair of naked breasts before. Well, he had, but that was internet porn. There was a world of difference between seeing some hentai or porn video and actually seeing a topless woman standing in front of him. Especially one giving him “fuck me” eyes. John didn’t even mind the fact that her arms were more “wings” than arms, being covered in green feathers. If anything, John found it all the more exciting.

But this woman wasn’t consenting. Not really. She was being ordered to offer consent, and as much as John wanted to give in to the horny part of his brain and indulge in her clear innuendo, he needed to be better. So he took in a deep breath, and with one final suppression of horny John, said, “Look, ma’am. I know what your boss said. But you don’t have to do anything. I don’t want to do anything to you if you don’t want to do anything. Like… I don’t want to **** you because he said so.”

The harpy, Sarah, looked at him like he had just grown a rat’s head out of his forehead. “You… don’t want to touch me? Or fuck me?”

“I don’t want to **** you to do something you don’t want to.”

Sarah was silent for a moment, before grabbing the potion bottle and offering it to John. “... You’re sure? You won’t tell my boss that I didn’t…”

“Of course not. As far as he will know, you satisfied me. But if you don’t want to have sex with a random guy, why would I make you?”

“Because you’re a master. That’s what masters do to slaves,” she said, as if John was breaking some fundamental law of the world.

“Well, maybe I’m not a master. Not truly.” John looked down at his hand, which still had some of Jakob’s blood on it. “A master probably wouldn’t have stopped another master from beating his ****. A master probably wouldn’t be sickened by the abhorrent conditions of it all. A master probably wouldn’t want to abolish slavery and let everyone here run free.”

Sarah cocked her head, confused. John took that moment to take the potion bottle and down it. While no wounds on him were visibly stitched up, he could feel his body get rejuvenated, as if he just had a nice hot shower and good power nap. “...Look,” Sarah said after a few moments of looking at John like he was crazy. “I have to go take her to go get washed up. Just… Don’t stick around here.”

“Why?” John asked as she helped the lamia up.

“You seem like a good sort, and around here,”