The usual deal; not part of the title not part of the game.



Name: Batu Lian
Age: 25
Gender: male
Nationality: Mongolian/ Russian
Appearance: Batu is about 5’8” dark hair with a mix of European and Asian features. he has a more androgynous look, leaning more towards the look of a young boy. His hair is cut short, about his ears. His ears are pierced a few times with different bands of metal. Batu's eyes are a deep brown with a black band on the outer edge of the iris. His clothing is simple with dark colored garments trimmed in the house colors.

Personality: Batu is reserved in all his actions, he seems rather apathetic and simple mined to most out side of the inner circles of his master’s family. Preferring to speak little he lets his actions indicate what he wants from others. His moods have recently shifted to a more depressed and dark out look.

History: Batu was born in to slavery and at five years of age acted as a playmate for many wealthy families who also had him as a whipping boy for their children. By age 15 he had outgrown his job and was sold further south. After a few mix-ups of papers declaring him as a singing girl instead of a boy, he was bought and given to his current master as a playmate for his bed ridden son. Whom had demanded some one to sing to him. From 15 until 20 he became the boys nanny and primary caregiver. At his death, his soft qualities won the attention of the boy’s father and his unwavering loyalty won him his freedom a short time later. He currently has a vow never to sing again.

Name: Aryan Cyrus
Sex: Male
Age: 17
Nationality: Persian
Appearance: Small and lithe, he has the body of a dancer, lean but strong and very flexible muscles. His black hair is cut to around ear-length and is soft and siken when it is looked after. Although most Persians have dark brown eyes, Aryan's are a deep, dark blue and by far his best feature. He is not stunningly good looking, but he is far from ugly, rather a quiet beauty of sorts.
Personality: Aryan is skilled at reading people and he tends to adjust the way he acts to the way those around him are acting. His natural personality is confident and often somewhat stubborn and his tongue usually has a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time when he is at ease. However when he senses that his master is in a foul mood he can act very meek and obeying. He loves his dancing, it is his very soul and he could not live without it. He also has a need to be around people, if he is left alone for too long, he can be driven mad with loneliness, especially if he is somehow kept from his dancing.
History: Aryan was born to a poor Persian family that had a lot of children. He had an older brother, older sister, twin brother and a baby sister but his family couldn't afford to feed all of them so they sold him, his twin brother and his older sister were sold into slavery when the boys were five and the sister ten. He never saw his sister again.
The boys were bought as part of a dancing troup and it was here that Aryan discovered his increadible talent and love of dancing. His brother was equally as good but he was a lot more quiet and less confident than Aryan and his dancing suffered because of it.
Not long after their seventh birthday, a terrible accident befell Iman, the twin brother, and he was killed as a result of it. This so affected Aryan that he has since surpressed the details of the memory of it.
Since then he has been sold here and there as a dancer-slave.

((Hopefully that gives some back story and some thing to spring off of. Sorry it took so long classes ate up so much time today. >.<))

It had been before sunrise that Batu had found him self shaken awake. Half dazed and slightly startled he found him self staring up in to the wild eyes of his mistress.
“Batu, Batu”, She whispered urgently her voice cracking. “You go to him now, he having a fit. He will not sleep. Batu please, go?” It took him a moment to comprehend the frantic woman through her thick northern accent. But with more pushing and some clothing being shoved at him he finally understood her pleading.

Moving silently through the large house, and several of the out door court yards, Batu found himself at the door of the master’s room. A heavy crash and swearing made Batu cautious as he pushed the heavy door aside and stepped in to the large room. Draped in silks and rich velvets spoke of old wealth, but in the apparent fit had been sent in to disarray with drapes half off their rods, and priceless pieces scattered and smashed about on the floor. Picking his way about the over turn items to the large bed the dominated the far end of the room Batu gave a slight sigh. Collapsed on top of the covers lay his master, eyes closed and breathing heavily he held his hand up beckoning Batu to him. Pausing Batu looked the man over for a moment, before arranged him self next to him in a cat like fashion.
“Batu” He murmured his hand twisting about Batu’s waist drawing him close along his side. “Batu, Batu, Batu. I am falling apart my son is dead, Batu my house is divided. My father calls upon me asking why I only had one son. My wives and lover fight among one another, each hoping for a new place in my bed. Tell me Batu, what am I to do? Ayanna can’t have any more children I fear, and other of my other wives have only given me daughters. I need no more of them, 10 was far more then I wanted… Oh Batu, Batu. This house has become worn with sorrow and hate. Batu, I have an idea go bring me some thing home that will lessen the grief of this house and put things right.”
Batu started to pull him self up his mind reeling with shock, but his master pulled his wrist his eyes open locking with Batu’s.
”Not now, when the sun rises you shall go. Now, Now I need some one to stay with me.” He said his voice soft and commanding as he pulled Batu back to him for the few hours they had left.

It had been hours since the sun had rose and yet Batu still hadn’t managed to for fill the task he had been assigned that morning. Pushing his way about dusty streets he cringed as traders hawked their wears Human and non to passer buyers with much more enthusiasm then the near noonday sun should have allowed for. Grumbling under his breath at what on earth he could bring home he let him self be drawn towards the sound of music.

They were told to dance, so dance he did. Aryan moved to the music, let it carry him away from here, away from the staring gazes and pointing fingers. There were a couple of other dancers around him, moving to the music in their own way, but there was no pre-created and practiced routine, it was all improvisation. Aryan's ususual deep blue eyes were open, but glazed over as he was elsewhere, in a sort of trance. He loved to dance, lived for it, and knew without it he would have crumpled long ago. It had also kept him out of any master's or master's guest's beds. Well mostly.

He remembered dancing like this for his last master and felt some sadness well up in him at the memory. He pushed it away. That was over now, he had ruined it. He pushed that out of his mind and with that thought his dance altered slightly, changing as his mood and thoughts changed. He was probably the best dancer there, but that was nothing unusual, Aryan was naturally talented at dancing, especially in the traditional Persian style of his homeland. He was glad that he was allowed to dance, a number of traders never let him dance, just locked him in a cage better suited to animals, his muscles stiff and cramping, unable to stretch, and kept there for long boring days at a time. This was much better. And he didn't have to answer a hundred questions about his skills.

Batu stopped at the edge of the crowd that had gathered in front of the dancer trader stall. The beat of the music was entrancing all on its own, but the whirling of the dancers made Batu linger longer then he had planned. Batu’s eye traced each figure as they moved in their own worlds free for a second of time. Slowly his mind wandered back to the early days of living in his master’s house and the joy music had brought it. The time he him self had spent making it full of music too came to mind, but abruptly shaking his head Batu let the memory fade as it turned to the last few bitter months.

“Perhaps” Batu thought after a moment, “That is the problem. Our home is dead with out the joy the arts had brought it! Then may hap…” Looking up with renewed determination he begin to study the dancers as more then just whirls of color. After several moments he found himself drawn back to the youth with deep blue eyes. Unlike the other dancers he moved naturally with the music, each flick of his hands inviting and comforting in a way. With out so much as a second though Batu eased his way around to the trader and with a casual gesture Batu pointed to the boy.
“That one, I wish to see him.” He said firmly.

Aryan didn't even notice when one of the men watching pointed him out. Without interupting the music or the other dancers, the trader made his way over to Aryan and snagged his arm, making him jump in surprise, suddenly jerked out of the dance-trance he was in. Someone must have been interested in buying him. Instantly mild nerves flared up. His last master, while it had been good while he was there, it had badly and he didn't want that to happen again, was afraid that it would. At the same time he was a little disappointed that his dancing had been interupted, but since there was nothing he could do about either things, he shoved them out of his mind.

There was a chain collar around his neck, a small burn at the back of his neck where the hot metal links had been joined since his last master had not required him to wear one. This was not one that can be easily removed by a slave. The trader clipped a lead to it and Aryan bit his bottom lip slightly, eyes downcast. His last master had spoiled him, he remembered, it was normal for a slave to wear a lead. But that didn't mean he liked it.

He was lead to a man who all Aryan could judge about him was he was not Persian. He had lived a somewhat sheltered life for a slave and had not been sold outside Persia or to any master who was not Persian. He paused a moment infront of the man before lifting his gaze to look him in the old. It revealed his bold nature but Aryan wanted to see all who were interested in buying him. Afterall, if he didn't like the look of them he could always put a spin on his words that would make him appear undesireable. Provided he correctly guessed exactly what they thought was desirable or not. He eyed the earings with some disease; his own ears were unadorned but instead had a mostly-healed virtical scars on them, that showed they had been pierced once but had been ripped somewhat violently out. He was wearing very little, as all the slaves on sale wore, nothing more than enough to cover his privates and, naturally, a potential buyer was free to remove that should they wish to completely inspect the goods they were wanting to buy. Aryan didn't think this man would do that though, just from the look of him. He didn't detect any lust in his eyes which was a good sign. There was also a few recently healed, narrow stripes on his back, caused by a switch but that would heal to be faded to near invisibility in time. He kept his hands by his sides so the man couldn't see the palms.

"The one you wanted," the trader said. "His name is-"

"-Aryan," Aryan but in, not liking others to talk for him.

The trader glared at him but nothing came of it, as Aryan knew. Afterall if he damaged the goods the price would drop. If he wasn't bought though, Aryan doubted he would get any food that night. Again, that wasn't too unusual, he had a habit of speaking when he shouldn't and was well used to the hollow sensation in his stomach it caused.

Batu gave a slight chuckle as the boy butted in, either he was young and foolish or far too valuable to break. Stepping around the boy he studied him his eyes taking in each mar weighting out how much he could knock down the price if he needed by pointing them out. The one on the neck caused Batu’s skin to prickle under the collar where his own mark was and absent mindedly he raised his hand to rub it. Lost then in his own thoughts again Batu reached out and let his finger tips trace the scars on the boy’s ears. Then catching him under the chin and meeting his eyes again. For what Batu could tell the boy looked healthy and had a decent amount of spunk in him. Perhaps the idea wasn’t as silly as it had first seemed. Dropping his hand he turned and faced the trader mental setting him self for what could be a long round of bartering. The boy would not come cheep, and despite having the coin to pay for it Batu knew too there was more then just his price tag. Clothing, a bit of cream to help heal the ears, and then knowing his master the need to re do the piercing when the ears had healed.
“So then, what is the price of the boy? ” Batu asked “ I would think not to high for such a scrawny thing.” The game was now open, it would be a matter keeping his interest in the boy well enough balanced so not to drive the price up nor insult the man.

Aryan's eyes followed the man as he walked around him. He seemed only amused by him answering for the trader, no glare no cuff up the back of the head. That was a start. Maybe this guy wouldn't be so bad if he was his master. If he was allowed to speak his mind then maybe it might even be enjoyable.

When the man touched his ear-lobes, he insinctively pulled back. It wasn't that they were sore anymore, well not unless they were squeezed or tugged on, but rather the memory of what had happened to them and why. It was an instinctual reaction. Naturally he didn't get very far before the man caught his chin so he rose his blue eyes to meet dark, deep brown ones, finding them rather calming and compelling. He often wished he had the normal brown most Persians had, he wouldn't have had such trouble as he had sometimes. He didn't like his eyes even if they were his best features.

Aryan resisted a sigh when it came time for the bartering. An eyebrow rose slightly when the man called him scrawny. He knew that part of the game was to talk down the price, but Aryan didn't think himself scrawny; small maybe but that was it.

"Four thousand," he demaned. "He's well proportioned and well formed." The trader reached behind him and squeezed his backside then. Aryan's eyes widened and he pulled away till the lead yanked his collar, making him wince slightly when it pulled against the burn. The trader just laughed. "Has a lot of spirit, rare eyes. And he is by far the best dancer. That's cheap for you."

Wincing mentally as the boy pulled forward on the lead, Batu did the math quickly in his head. It wasn’t a bad price, and he wasn’t too keen on watching the man bully the boy further, but to take the opening bid would almost be an insult to his master. Looking the boy over again he thought about the offer seriously considering paying the price for a moment. In the end his masters careful training of how to barter won out and looking up then at the trader he scoffed,
“Three thousand, I am not buying a stallion to break, so his spirit doesn’t matter…And proportion and form do me no good if he is marred. Look at his neck, a proper collar to cover that will cost me a fortune I do think…”

The trader grew more and more smug as the man took time to think about his offer. He had deliberately made the price more than the boy was worth but not so outrageously overpriced that he would walk away instantly. He was a shrewd and well-practised negotiator.

Nonetheless, he was surprised at the price the man eventually offered. He had expected for him to offer at most two thousand but probably less. The boy was probably truly worth little more than that. But still, maybe he was just untalented at bartering. He could get more than he was worth out of this man, he was sure.

"You may not wish to break a spirit but nor do you want him attempting to run at every opportunity," the trader countered. It wasn't true, there was nothing in this boy's history to say that he had attempted to escape from any master but the man would likely believe him since he had shown some disrespect already. It wasn't a far stretch to believe that. "You would spend all your time chasing him down. And as for the burn, it's only minor, nothing that wont heal in time, and it is hardly a marring scar for a slave. Plenty more traders brand them in far more obvious places. The boy came here without a collar and with his strong-spirited nature I could hardly trust him not to remove any other collar put on him. This was the only option and the scaring is minimal. You are making fire out of smoke. I tell you what, I'll give you three thousand, seven hundred. You saw his dancing skills, I could easily charge twice that amount," he bluffed. "What you need to spend on him after buying him is hardly my concern. For all I care he can dance in what he's in now, that's no argument to lower the price."

Aryan listened to the bartering with mild interest. The man who was interested in buying him was intriguing. He too was surprised at the price offered, and the wish to hide the burn on his neck. Idly his hand reached up behind his neck to feel the burn, wincing a little as his fingertips brushed it. It had been hurting continuously since the collar had been fastened and rested against the skin. It didn't feel that bad.

Deciding that he liked this man and that, if he wanted to cover a small and mild burn he couldn't be that bad. Surreptitiously he turned his hands so that the palms were visible, meeting his eyes. The palms had shiny skin on them, burn scars that were caused by his last master, but fully healed. The scaring was fading in time but it had only been a couple of months so it was still visible. Not so much when he was dancing unless one was looking closely for it, but still enough to knock the price down by a substantial amount. And Aryan had a feeling this master would be decent so he didn't want to run the risk of the price detering him.

Batu met the boy’s eye for a second as he over turned his palms. The scars made him wonder for a moment what on earth he had been up to before falling in to the markets. Grimacing mentally at how rusty he had become in bartering he took a few moments to gather up his wits. It was no question not to him that the boy was coming home with him. Some thing deep in his mind all ready had decided that. Pulling up his look of distaste he turned again on the trader, “His hands are scarred to! Humph and you are as good as telling me he would run off if I took him off his lead…for that risk one thousand five hundred would suffice.

Aryan grinned widely, not bothering to hide it, when the man took his hint and saw his hands. They weren't that bad really, well they were but they had been well looked after at the time so they didn't restrict movement and was not unsightly in a way they could easily have been. He even let a soft giggle escape him at the look of outrage the trader wore when he saw that Aryan had shown the scars after he had been ordered not to. Of course he had a feeling that this man would now buy him so he didn't care what the trader thought or threatened him with. Soon he wouldn't belong to him.

Spluttering a little the trader eventually said in a huff, "It's not like they can't be hidden, you didn't even notice until he showed you them! Two thousand, five hundred, that's less than your original offer! And only just enough to cover costs. That's it! That's the final offer, if you don't take that then you miss out and I'll sell him to more obliging customers!"

Aryan's mirth faded somewhat at that and he looked to the man before him. He hoped that despite the offer being more than the polite increase he would still be willing to pay it. If not, likely he would face more than just an empty belly for the night. The man would probably lock him up, like the unskilled slaves. He couldn't stand that, being kept in such a small space and most of all, being unable to dance. Dancing was his only escape, if that was taken away from him he would be driven mad. Would be hollow and dead like some of the other slaves. But... the man had still seemed interested in him after he had shown him his hands, which would normally indicate that he was a troublemaker, and the trader had lies about him trying to escape all the time. Maybe he would still buy him. He hoped so. He was sick of being here, in limbo about what was going to happen to him.