X---AznCo0ki3 and Tachigami

There was no sunlight shining through the arched windows of her third-floor bedroom. What did shine in, however, was the easily flickering glow of gaslights. They lined the streets, flaring up to signal daylight because the cavern the city resided in was well over a mile below the surface of the Earth. Since the Fall, so historians called it, the people that had escaped the siege of the invading races of silver-skinned oddities that had only been dubbed 'aliens'. Despite a massive war, many of the sunlit resources of the world above had been destroyed or taken by the aliens that managed to escape the war alive. Now, humanity had reverted back to what appeared to be the mid to late 1800s. Many things returned that once had been forgotten; chief among these things was slavery.

'... Slaves consist of young men and women, poor or homeless, that get rounded up monthly. While they wait for auction day, they're kept in cramped quarters in buildings similar to horse stables, given simple clothes and food, and taken to the town square during the brightest part of the day, usually noontime. Many high-class families turn out for the auctions, and tend to spend quite a bit of money on one person. Unfortunately, there are no laws protecting the man or woman after they're acquired, therefore, the man or woman can be used or abused as the family sees fit...'

Nicoletta sighed and closed her book. It detailed the rise of slavery that had, so very long ago, been abolished, though this time targeting the less-fortunate. Ever since her parents had told her of their intent to visit the end-of-the-month auction and buy someone up, she had felt very uneasy. Why should people own other people, regardless of where they stood on the social and financial pyramid? Setting the leatherbound book on the polished wood of the desk, she rested her chin on her hand and stared at the gaslight that hung outside the window. It had gotten brighter.

"Nicoletta, dear!" Her father's deep, commanding voice called through the hall. "Are you ready? We're about to leave for the square."

Gerard Rutherford was a kind man, though the hard, chiseled features of his face and his sturdy body may have said otherwise. It put her at ease to know that, were they to come away with one of those unfortunate souls, he or she would be treated well. Still...

She pulled the gently-flowing edge of her hat down over her long hair before stepping from her room. She was met by her mother, a proper, yet easy-going woman. Her pale green dress was similar in color to Nicoletta's darker one. "Dear, are you ready?" She asked. Nicoletta nodded, and her mother swept her hand behind her seventeen-year-old daughter.

While most of the girl's friends, which was a small circle of those she trusted very well, had gotten engaged, or even married, by now, she didn't find much interest in such things. She preferred to read, know about what she had missed out on before they had been forced underground. While her mother married her father when they were both nineteen, they understood her thoughts on the matter of marriage, or even a relationship in general. Her mother, Isla, was looking forward to Nicoletta taking over their sprawling library and greenhouse, both of which provided knowledge, food, and the beauty of naturally-grown flowers and vegetation to the entire city.

Isla and Nicoletta swept down the hallway easily lit with candelabras and lined with a deep red carpet and down the gently winding stairs into the entrance hall. As Gerard led the ladies to their waiting carriage, Nicoletta tried to recall what else she'd learned about slavery today...

'... As it stands, slaves are used in a variety of roles. Generally, female slaves are used as chambermaids or escorts to the ladies of the house, and are gifted upkeep of the household's appearances, cooking, and cleaning. Males do well with hands-on labor that includes restoring, furnishing, and repairs, and work outside the home. However, this is not always set in stone. Females can easily take on the roles of males, and vice versa...'

Nicoletta sighed again, and pulled up her velvet skirts to enter the cab of the carriage. The long-haired horse stamped a bit, eager to move as weight shifted in the load strapped to it. She wrung her hands in anticipation as she sat between her parents.

828, that was who he was. He had a name but it had been long forgotten, who cared for someone like him? Who was he? These thoughts ran through Melchiorre's mind every waking moment, no one cared for the poor. They were left to suffer, often stripped of everything they owned, they lived out on the streets now a days. Huddled in large groups praying that a single small fire last through the night. He had been picked up roughly a year ago, Mel had been picked up while he was trying to run his family's shoe making business. The day it happened was an okay day in terms of sales, some clients had come to the shop to either order new shoes for the making or to get old ones repaired.

The society had reverting back to preying on the helpless, men in uniforms with special badges came around and took you away if they had a good reason too. Not like the government ever needed a good reason to take people away, the most current reason you could be arrested was if you were poor. If you lived under or anywhere near the poverty line. If you lived near the outskirts, in the ghettos, in small homes with large families. If you shopped when there were discounts all the time, the government watched and they knew.

Mel's father had just passed away so he had come into town to take over his business. It was his responsibility to feed his family now, and he would do anything for them. Melchiorre and his family had been refugees to this country from Italy, it had been roughly 10 years since he had been here. Being twenty five now he remembered all the times in Italy. What would it be like had his family not come to accursed country?

He still remembered the day crystal clear, roughly about a year and a half ago some men had started wandering around the neighbourhood where his father's shop previously stood. Mel closed his eyes at the sad memory, at first he had thought nothing of it. Until one day he noticed they were recording things down. They went to each sop owner in that little bazaar and questioned each one of them, some looking paler after the talk, others even breaking down crying.

Then one day it happened, clouds were looming over head and it look like there was a dangerous storm coming the towns way. Mel was beginning to close the shop down for the day when the men approached him, they asked him a few questions which they deemed as general. Questions such as; how much money did he make in a month? How long had the shop been open? Was he the original owner? What was the highest wage he had ever earned? Melchiorre had answered all these questions patiently thinking nothing of it until the next day...when he saw the shop was closed.

Mel had gone to the government all fired up, the young man had been shaking with rage as he burst through the doors. He remembered the man smirking and then everything went black. When he woke up his body had throbbed with pain he never thought he would know. He felt as if his legs were broken, the left side of his faced ached, his ribs hurt every time he went to draw in a breath.

When he had looked in the mirror he had been horrified, he now had a new identity...828. They were labelled with numbers on their face, that was a sign that you were a slave for eternity. No one would love you or show you sympathy and there was nothing you could do to get rid of or hide the wretched curse.

He was who he was, a lowly, uncared for slave. Melchiorre tuned his mind out and turned his attention back to the auction. He was being sold again, he wore the simple slave attire, black shirt and black pants. The shirt hung open in the front for him for he had lost much weight since the beginning. His body covered with bruises and whip marks.

Melchiorre was not going to submit without a fight, they would have to kill him for him to finally submit as a slave.

The carriage bumped to a halt a street down from the town square. As Nicoletta, flanked by her parents, walked along with the many others, she picked a bit at the neck of her multi-layer dress. The town square was lit up like what noontime would appear as above their heads, past the dark of the cavern's expansive ceilings. They took their place at the front of the gathering, standing around the cobblestone square in front of the massive fountain of marble carved to resemble a flower from times passed: A lily. In the distance, beyond the auction stage, the fountain, and the higher buildings of their city noted in textbooks as New Angeles, mist rose high and formed clouds heavy with condensation. That was the best one could hope for in the form of real rain. Nicoletta forced herself to tear her eyes away from that spectacle and focus on the one she'd been brought to witness.

Slowly, painfully, her eyes swept over the line of black-clad slaves. Some were battered and scarred from their utter determination to be seen as some kind of threat, though without weapons, the sheer force and number of guards among the stables and flophouses they were kept in tended to be too much. Others were without healed wounds or bruises, but appeared to be thin. Some were malnourished, best suited (so the auctioneer called out) for simple, but worthwhile, tasks. Nicoletta bit her lip as her parents stepped forward, bidding then withdrawing, appearing to search for the perfect number. She moved aside, a bit closer to the stage but out of the way of adamant owners.

Among the shouting, number calling, bidding and muttering amongst the gangling crowd, Nicoletta couldn't even hear herself think. But listening to her own thoughts were unnecessary when one already knew what was repeating: Why tattoo numbers onto them? Why strip their identity? Why force them to live in shoddy shacks and stables like mere livestock? Why humiliate them? Why act as though they were no more than rats, or scum, or degenerate wastes of life? Nicoletta could have so easily been among them... In fact, that was where she was headed. Her parents---not by birth---were so kind and caring... Why did they need to attend these barbaric markets?

Nicoletta sniffed hard and forcefully wiped away the tears that had come to her eyes. Her hands clasped for a moment, then went back to her face, softly running over where her bright red number could have been tattooed when she was young. She didn't even see the line becoming smaller and smaller, faster and faster. Her parents seemed to have hooked onto a particular man or woman, but Nicoletta didn't even want to look at the stage anymore.

Mel grunted as he was shoved heartlessly to the centre of the stage. There he stood, like an animal, quivering. He quivered not with fear, oh no Melchiorre was an angsty one, he quivered with rage. Had be not been bound with chains the young male would have gladly lashed out and killed everyone in mad rage. Mel stumbled as he shuffled his feet around trying to get to the seat in the centre.

Each slave was auctioned off one by one, it was like these rich bastards were bidding on livestock! They had made a mockery of people with low incomes, Mel thought that all the people who lived people the poverty line had a far more reputable business than the rich, greedy business men. At least the poor were dishonest and hard working, they would never take advantage of another. Though, it was questionable is every poor person was the same.

His bored eyes glanced from one to another as they continued to bid.

Fat, grubby. Skinny, stingy. Ugly, tall. She seems annoying, all that make up on her face. I bet if I wiped it off she'd be just another face. That man looks like he's going to die soon, he can barely stand straight.

He just looked over each person as he or she bid, taking in there appearances. Judging them without mercy. There was a small smirk on his face, one day...one day the tables would be turned and all these fat, rich business men and aristocrats alike would be owned by the poor. The smirk was soon wiped off of Mel's face as he felt a hand back hand him, he growled and looked up at the auctioneer. "Wipe that smirk off yer face ye scum." he spat out at Mel, the auctioneer was chewing tobacco. Melchiorre looked away in disgust as spit flew this way and that.

Barbaric fool.

Melchiorre always seemed to get high bids on him, after all he was young and defiant. Who wouldn't love to break a slave like him? But, alas, the joke was on them. Little did they know Melchiorre was a spirit that would never be broken, not by harsh words or pain anyways. It seemed like hours before the bidding was coming to a slow, steady halt. Even the auctioneer looked bored as he out stretched his grubby fingers to block the yawn that grew.

"Going Once. Going Twice. Going Thrice. And SOLD!!!!!! To the man and his wife in the pale green dress!"

Melchiorre sighed, and thus once again began the rut. The wheel of him being slave to a master.

As she blocked out her father's calls, after each higher bid, Nicoletta glanced up through her hair at the stage. She hated the auctioneer most of all, and not just because of what he did. He was a disgusting creep, a scrounge sometimes, frequenting seedy shops and gambling dens. Not to mention his filthy habits. Nicoletta grimaced at the thought of him even being near someone with any sense of cleanliness or self-respect. As the cry of "Sold!" echoed through the square, a sense of dread filled her stomach. Isla put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll be giving him every right he lacks now. I promise."

Nicoletta wasn't sure if her mother were saying this out of pity for where Nicoletta had almost ended up, or true, genuine sympathy for all those forced to be slaves. But the look in her mother's gaze said she felt both. Isla was always true to her word, as was her father. He had gone up to the stage, digging for the money to pay the auctioneer. He grinned like a gaudy clown, showing yellow-stained teeth, as he accepted the money, and handed over the leash that was attached to 828's leather collar. He was led off the stage by a couple handlers, so they were called, and abandoned when he was met with Nicoletta and Isla. "Welcome to the Rutherford family." Gerard said. "Please meet Isla, and my daughter Nicoletta."

Isla smiled warmly always, regardless of what she was met with afterward. "I'm sorry for your predicament, it can get terribly repetitive, I'm sure. I can assure you it'll not happen again."

Nicoletta's breath caught. Of course she expected this, but now that the reality had set in, and her parents were showing true thought for those branded slaves, it was almost too much. If everyone could be this way...

She cleared her throat. "I hope you don't harbor any hatred of us." She managed. "Not everyone is the same. We'll..." She clenched her teeth. "I... I'll walk home, mother..."

She turned and started off quickly, weaving through what little crowd remained. She couldn't stay. Not after what she'd seen. It had been her job to avoid this, avoid any situation like this, regardless of what side she was on. As she made it to a quieter street, she sighed hard and slowed her steps. This shortcut would give her time to think, and allow her to meet her parents and their newcomer at the gate.

Melchiorre stumbled down the steps, he grunted as he caught himself just in time. His angry eyes turned towards the people that had bought him. A man, his wife and their daughter. His eyes lingered on their daughter and took in the rich look she had. Mel's eyes burned as he though of his own siblings as they went to bed nearly starved everyday, as they wore tattered rags on their bodies instead of stuffy, high collared dresses.

Melchiorre just listened to them talk, the wife was named Isla and the daughter Nicoletta. Both their names had a pretty ring to them and the mother-daughter duo had a striking resemblance to each other. His eyes bore into Mr. Rutherford's as he a curt nod, his voice was deep and soft. "I am 828, but you already know that" he said scoffing darkly as he reached up his bound hands to point clumsily at his face.

He smirked even wider at the naive women's comment, how could she even have the slightest idea of his predicament? She wasn't the one to be uprooted, to be dragged and labelled as some animal who was just to beat and beat and beat. Melchiorre hated when people tried to sympathize with him, he hated it for one reason and one reason only. None of these rich people knew what the slaves went through, the rich only heard how the poor were treated but all the things that were passed around were filtered. Of course the government could not be worried with an uprising.

His bored golden pupils fell upon the young girl as he spoke. Mel turned his eyes back as soon as they had wandered. Just another family to serve, their words were probably empty. They were given to him so he would most likely work better. He couldn't trust anyone, specifically the rich.

Gerard shook his head calmly, reaching into his pocket. "That number doesn't mean anything." He said, pulling out a switchblade. He flicked the five-inch blade up and cut the ropes binding the young man's hands. "The numbers they paint on your face is degrading and disgusting. I'm sure I can get some of the ink off, make it a bit less noticeable..." Gerard's gaze went softer as he thought of what could be used that wouldn't harm or damage skin, while taking some of the glare away from the bright red number.

"We'd rather call you by your birth name." Isla specified as they started walking toward their waiting carriage not far away. "I'm sure it'd be preferred over that hideous number."


Nicoletta held her arms across her chest as she walked; why had she needed to go? They could have gone on their own! Certainly her parents were kind-hearted, sweet, the most adoring creatures Nicoletta had ever been blessed with, but the sight of the stage... The auctioneer... The line that made so many new and old slaves angry, humiliated, disgusted with life itself, and everyone that could be considered rich or powerful... It made her sick!

She passed a few fruit stands on her way home. It was rare to see such beauties, bright orange and red, green, blue and yellow... Fresh fruit was a commodity for few, only those with money could get their hands on the real thing. That was what Isla grew in her massive greenhouses, and oftentimes passed out to those homeless or poor that hadn't been caught yet. At least there was some good. Hopefully her and her parents make the man they just acquired relatively happy; she knew slaves, she'd grown up almost being one before being saved. Those that dodged the hunters became bitter toward those at the top of the pyramid. It didn't seem like it could be reversed...

She sighed as she paused at one of the stands, buying a bag of strawberries and one of yellow apples. It'd be nice to come home with some. Maybe even as an offering of peace...

As his new master cut the ropes binding his hands Mel sighed, he rubbed the raw skin with his hands. "Thank you" he muttered as he continued to massage his hands. Mel's eyebrows flickered as his new master talked about trying to get rid of the numbers on his face, was he feigning kindness? But even if he was, why would he do it in front of everyone? Generally, you were looked down upon if you actually cared about your slaves.

His golden eyes fell over the mistress, birth name he repeated to himself. Melchiorre winced slightly before speaking. "My name is Melchiorre...or Mel if you prefer" he muttered. He nodded at her words, of course he preferred his name over the damn number! Who wouldn't?!

"I will try my best to serve you" he whispered again. Mel couldn't understand these people, what were their true incentives?! Though they seemed to be kind Mel wouldn't let his guard down, he knew that most often it was the sweet pair that turned out to be the deadliest. Melchiorre had been passed around to many different people, and had been forced to do many different things.

Gerard led the way back to the carriage. He glanced back as Mel spoke. "That you try is the most we ask." Isla said, nodding lightly. They climbed into the carriage and the door was closed for them as Gerard dug in an pocket inside his jacket. "We've only ever lived along up until this point," he said. "Though now it's gotten difficult, in our advancing age, to keep up with the housework." He unfolded the paper he produced from his pocket and studied it. "Before we came here tonight, I wrote up a schedule I hope to keep amongst the four of us; your jobs are simple: Gather laundry and place them in the laundry room. Keep up guest rooms in case of unexpected or surprise guests. Gather dirty dishes, clean them, and put them away. Dust every two days. And, finally, if any windows have collected dirt or dust, be sure to clean them well."

Isla looked from her husband to Mel. "Nicoletta and myself do most of the cooking." She said. "Compared to most, our home is quite lax and comfortable, rather than stuffy and pristine. Being involved in the literature and botanical lifestyles and industry, we can't afford to fear dust and dirt, though it's a good idea to keep one's home comfortably livable."


Before she reached home, Nicoletta ducked into an alley and left an apple between a wall and trash can. She'd never been to a hovel since she'd been rescued from one, and while she didn't fancy the idea of going back to one, it was nice to bring at least a little hope to those that didn't have much. Her parents had promised to get her involved in the rather illegal practice of bringing necessities to those hiding from the slave hunters.

She arrived in front of the gate to their home as the clopping of horse hooves and sturdy wooden wheels met her ears. Turning, she caught sight of her parents' carriage. Usually their first impressions were taken well. She hoped this were the case this time; during her walk, her will had repaired itself.

Mel listened to Gerard as he listed off the schedule, nothing out of the ordinary.... he thought to himself. The duties sounded like the usual he had to do. Mel took the list after it was read out to him, he scanned over the paper once more. He would need to get used to this, but all in all it seemed like very little to do. He had been expecting much more work.

Mel was hesitant as he climbed into the carriage awkwardly, he was dirty and the carriage was squeaky clean. He had waited until both Gerard and Isla had climbed in as he shut the door. He closed it very carefully, scared that he might break the carriage. Melchiorre had never rode in one before, usually he walked to the places he needed to get to, especially while running errands.

As he listened to Isla continue on he nodded, over the years Mel had become quite a cook. He was very skilled in cooking and enjoyed it thoroughly. Melchiorre knew many different cooking styles as he had been passed from person to person and had been forced to fit into their ways. As the carriage came to a squeaky halt Mel reached his hand towards the handle, he opened the door and climbed out first.

Once out he patiently held the door open for both Gerard and Isla. As he looked around the house his eyes fell on the gate, and further upon the gate he spotted their sole daughter. Nicoletta. She reminded him of his own sister, he felt a pang of homesickness as his brow furrowed. Melchiorre had never realised how much he missed his own family, but he knew that he needed to be strong.

Who knew, maybe he would one day earn enough money to set himself free and his family above the poverty line.

As Gerard waved off the carriage, Isla led the way through the gate, placing an arm around Nicoletta for a moment before she brought out a key from a necklace, fitting it into the lock and turning. "We'll have an extra key made for you around noon tomorrow." She said to Mel as they entered the foyer. Warm, spacious, but easy-going and well-lived. The carpet runner was an earthy tone of brown, the walls beige, a few bookshelves stretching toward the ceiling here and there.

Nicoletta nodded farewell before taking her bags upstairs to her room. She had a basket she never really used anymore, so she'd arrange the fruits in it. She's always been artistic.

Gerard watched her go, then turned to Mel. "We hope you find it comfortable here. Come, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping." He started off after Nicoletta had gone, following her previous trek up the stairs and to the right, then up another, slightly narrower flight of stairs to the third level. Passing four doors, Gerard stopped outside one near a tightly spiraling staircase that led to the attic and opened the door, presenting the room Mel would call his own. A mixture of gray-green carpeting reached wall to wall, and a double bed stood cornered next to a window fitted with green curtains. A fireplace stood against the far right wall with a couch in front of it, and two narrow bookshelves on either side. One door close to the bed led to a closet, and the door farthest along the right wall led to an attached bathroom. Plants both hung from the ceiling and grouped in corners.

"It's dreadful to see you in such despicable clothing." Gerard said with a sigh, turning to Mel. "First thing tomorrow, I'll send Nicoletta along with you to buy a new wardrobe, and you can take that day to get a feel for the house so you don't become accidentally lost." He patted Mel on the shoulder. "I'm sorry for your past abuses, and the family you were forced to leave behind." He muttered. "Maybe sometime soon, we can change that." He gave a half smile, and turned, walking back down the stairs. "Dinner should be in thirty minutes." He called over his shoulder. "You'll find some of my old clothes in the box in the closet if you'd like to wear those in the meantime!"

Mel nodded and muttered a thank you. He admired the house from the outside for the second, it wasn't ridiculously huge but it was still spacious. Melchiorre liked the way it looked, not too flashy. As they stepped inside he looked around the spacious rooms, the were well furnished. Nothing in their house looked tacky, it was all elegant and classy.

"It's a very nice home" Mel spoke as his eyes travelled over the stairs and then to an open room which he assumed was the kitchen. He watched as the girl ran upstairs, she was awfully quiet for a child her age. Usually kids were louder and a bit more boisterous, or at least that's the impression he got from the children of other rich masters he had worked for. But Nicoletta preferred to be doing her own thing, she never seemed to bother anybody. 'Come I'll show you where you'll be sleeping' as he heard Gerard's voice he turned his attention back to his new master. With a curt nod he followed.

They walked up and up and up until both the men came to a halt in front of a well managed attic door. Melchiorre had always loved attics, it was a bit sad how some people neglected them till they became so dusty and soiled that they were useless. The males mouth fell open as Gerard opened up the doorway to what would soon become his own. It was furnished simply, but lavishly. "I do not think I am fitting of such a room" he whispered. Melchiorre would've never even been able to imagine this kind of room.

Even his own room at home had been scarce. There had been just a table, a lamp and a rickety bed that creaked so much Mel was afraid it would snap in his sleep. For the first time even Melchiorre let out a weak but friendly smile to return Gerard's as he said comforting words. After Gerard was gone Melchiorre sighed and walked towards the closet and rummaged through a closed carton labelled 'clothes' until he found a crisp, clean pair of jeans and a white button up shirt.

He literally peeled the filth covered rags off of his body and changed gratefully. After Melchiorre was done he walked over to the small attic window and looked out, he didn't know how much time had passed but he just stood there. Could he actually have had a turn of luck?

With her initial job finished, Nicoletta changed from her confining green dress to a lighter, beige one that now didn't hug the neck and feel terribly uncomfortable. It was sad how one had to dress as others saw respectable, or you simply wouldn't be taken seriously. But in the comfort of one's own home, one could afford to tone it down quite a bit, and wear the simplistic. After putting on a pair of slip-on shoes, Nicoletta settled at her desk to write a small note for the basket. A note of welcome, and sign it on behalf of her parents as well. Situating the stationery on top of the largest apples in the basket, she lifted it up and took it with her as she left her room, going up the last flight of stairs to Mel's door. The fruits would certainly boost his health, some of which was undoubtedly lost during his time of confinement. Setting it outside the door and toward the wall to avoid accidental tripping, she turned it a bit to check the best angle.

"Nicole! Come help me prepare supper, please!" Isla's voice was light, as the floors carried sound well throughout the house. The girl didn't reply---instead, she knocked on Mel's door three times and took off, running to join her mother.


Gerard, though his expertise resided in the written word, did hold a fascination with cooking, if but a bit. Despite being a dreadful one at best, Isla and Nicoletta allowed him to help if he requested, cutting vegetables or slicing meat, though from time to time he would cut himself on the sharp knife. Now he sat on a stool near the pantry, a towel over his left hand. He'd made it through two onions before slicing through his index and middle fingers. While Isla focused on the vegetables that hadn't been taken care of by Gerard, Nicoletta went through a large block of meat, ham from the farmlands in far-off caverns that used artificial lighting to convince livestock of day and night, and imported fruits and vegetables from Isla's Greenhouses. The animals managed to live perfectly normal lives, however, which was a true feat considering their location.

It was rather late---the auction had gone on longer than expected, and they only had time for sandwiches before getting ready for bed. Their days did begin early as Isla was to be at the greenhouses before the gaslights were lit and Gerard had to be at his library to take care of the early arriving returns. Nicoletta was alone for half the day, and generally stayed inside during that time. To prove, however, that she had not been loitering, she was to read one of her designated books and write a summary of what she read in the meantime. That was school for the rather socially-awkward Nicoletta, now that she was nearing eighteen years of age. Friends came in the afternoon.

Pans sizzled on the brass-and-copper stovetop as the meat and vegetables were added to oil. Gerard managed to make himself useful even with a sliced-up hand, going into the pantry to retrieve bread that had been baked just two days before. He set it on the counter nearby, however, and excused himself to the dining room. When he left, Isla and Nicoletta giggled about the man's clumsiness with a knife.

Snapping out of his prior trance Melchiorres head turned slowly towards the door. He was expecting someone to enter, but when no one did he walked with quiet steps towards the door. As he pulled it open he craned his neck to look around the topmost level, but to his surprise he saw no one there. Mel dismissed it as a figment of his imagination, but as he was about to turn and close the door once more something caught his eye. Throwing the door open a bit wider he squinted at something in the corner.

He shuffled his feet towards the corner and bent down to pick up the object, which is now clearly saw. Mel smiled softly at the beautifully arranged basket and once again took refuge in his new room. Melchiorre carefully unpacked the contents of the basket, there was an assortment of fruits. Something falling caught his eye, Melchiorre caught it before it hit the ground. He carefully opened up the piece of paper, it appeared to from Nicoletta.

Mel carefully folded the note once more and kept it neatly on the desk that was provided in his room. He picked up an apple gingerly, it had been years since he had tasted the succulent juiciness of the red, shiny fruit. He sunk his teeth into the fruit nearly groaning from the taste, he had forgotten how perfect apples were! Just the right sweetness and just the right tanginess, he munch away happily as a little child did to candy. Better yet, the apple tasted much more satisfying than a small piece of sugar on a stick.

In a matter of just minutes the fruit was gone, his hands and face sticky all over. Mel grinned and eyed an orange in the basket, tossing the core of the apple in the small bin in his room, the boy practically pounced on the orange. Taking his orange he sat cross legged on the floor as he unpeeled it impatiently. Mels nose twitched with the smell of the orange as he happy shoved the upright smiles of the oranges into his mouth.

Who knows how much time had gone by as Melchiorre savoured the taste of the orange. After he finished his second fruit he decided to be a bit more civil and save the rest for later. Perhaps a midnight snack? Melchiorre sprawled out on the floor, his stomach purring with happiness as he stretched his long limbs and closed his eyes, his mouth slightly apart as his chest rose and fell with each breath he took.

Nicoletta's hand hovered the bread knife over the loaf, her eyes unfocused as she lost herself in thought. There were so many people forced to lose their humanity for the sake of making some rich fatcat content and lazier than they already were. They thought their own lives were so difficult because they had businesses to run, but they had a home, money, family, clothes that kept one's modesty, clean water and food and anything they could think of. "Nicoletta." Isla put a hand on the girl's shoulder, shocking her from her thoughts. "What are you thinking about?"

"Just, er..." Nicoletta shoved the knife through the top of the bread, trying to come up with something. But she couldn't. She sighed. "I can't stand what so many others are going through. I don't like that Mel has to be separate from his family. I don't like that we had to actually buy him. A person! I don't like that there's an ugly number painted on their faces to just dehumanize them even more. I thought we were better than this, as a race. We're not supposed to go down to that level, not after we left it behind centuries ago!"

Isla sighed. "I know, Nicole, I really do." She went back to the stove. "But I tell you one thing: We'll do something. You know all those late nights I said I was staying at the greenhouse to put extra protection over the plants? And when your father said he was reorganizing the shelves that were handled by foolish young ones?"

Nicoletta nodded. She'd never thought much about it. She'd actually accompanied her parents during their working hours, and often they'd have to do just that. "Well." Isla sighed. "We were doing much more than that. I was going to tell you on your eighteenth birthday, since it's not long away. But I'm telling you now, we're trying to do something about this injustice. I want you to put your mind at ease. In a month your father and I will tell you the rest; perhaps Mel will see his family again." She smiled at her daughter. "Ever since we found you, and kept you from the slavers, your father and I put plans in order and in action. But in the meantime, we have to go on with our lives."

Nicoletta was burning to know what her mother was talking about. The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it and nodded, turning back to slice the bread evenly.

The entire thing was cut, the situated on the counter. Isla and Nicoletta began a quick, efficient line of placing the various items they'd prepared on the bread: Mustard, ham, a tomato, two lettuce leaves, and a ring of onion. Each was topped with the other piece of bread, an set onto a plate. "Nicoletta, go get Mel, won't you?" Isla lifted the platter as her daughter nodded, hurrying off. Up the stairs, and up the other flight, Nicoletta made it to Mel's door and paused, rather glad to see that the basket was taken, but its fate was still unknown. "Mel?" She knocked lightly. "It's dinnertime, if you want to come down."

[[Thank you for being patient with me!~ ^^]]

Mel had been snoring away, his sleep abruptly broken by the gentle knock on his door. He moaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes furiously. Mel blinked, looking around dazed, he hadn't slept this well for months! It really felt good, stretching out his limbs he yawned like a little lion cub. Mel got up with the grace of a toddler and quickly cleaned up the traces of his little feast, there was a slight blush on his face as he opened the door. He was embarrassed that he eaten so much in such little time.

He bowed his head once to acknowledge Nicoletta, "Thank you very much for the basket" Mel whispered quietly, his face showing a small smile of gratitude. No one had ever bothered to be kind to him so this small act of kindness really touched him. He stood behind Nicoletta waiting to follow her, as she guided the path down to the dinner hall Mel let his eyes wander of the grand interior of the house, the walls were a rich color and the portions that had wallpaper were beautifully picked.

His head spun with the many questions he had, he decided that it would be better to wait and get to know the family a bit better before he intruded upon them with his questions. As both Nicoletta and Mel approached the dining room he halted and looked at Nicoletta. He was unsure whether he was to eat with them or alone in the kitchen. "Has everything been prepared? Is there anything else that needs to be done?" Mel asked Nicoletta with a raised eyebrow.

It felt strange for him to be resting while the masters and mistresses of the house did all the work that was suppose to be his. Mel wasn't complaining, but for the first time he truly wanted to help out someone in which ever way possible. Little by little Mel was beginning to trust this new family of his, each act of kindness brought Mel closer to regaining his trust in the human population.

Nicoletta almost couldn’t hide the grin that shone through when Mel voiced his appreciation for her gift. It was something she had to do, not only for him, but for herself. To calm her mind, and perhaps help him feel more appreciated. The simple act of giving could help almost anyone, really. And it could definitely help bring another up that had for most of their life suffered from inequality. To Nicoletta, and her family, everyone stood on equal ground, except the diabolical and horrible men and women that could dare try to subjugate and harm others for their own gain. Such as the auctioneer and those that owned slaves and abused them on a daily basis.

As they stepped into the room, the scent of recently prepared food washed over them. “Yes, it’s all been finished.” Nicoletta said as her eyes swept over the table, and her parents as they entered with a pitcher of strong fruit juice, something as rare as fruit in general, and a bottle of wine to join the rest of the table. It wasn’t an extravagant layout, as it was for many others with more children and adults living amongst them, but now, instead of three set places, there were four. Two on one side, two on the other. “We’d not had time to put together a more intricate meal, so we settled on sandwiches. A bit of a late dinner, unfortunately.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Gerard sighed, setting a couple extra glasses at the fourth seat and allowing Isla to fill them from both pitcher and bottle. “That damned auction. I have to wonder why they decide to hold it at noon and let it go all evening. A terrible thing.” He paused for a moment and turned his gaze to the ceiling, a sign he was thinking relatively hard. “Well, obviously it’s to tire out the ‘items’ for auction, so they’ll not begin a fight with those that buy them.” He shook his head. “But no matter! That’s for later! Come, Melchiorre, sit. We can speak of anything you like, or not at all.”

“Oh, yes! Any questions that no one else would answer, they’re all up for debate!” Isla clapped her hands together, as though ready for a long, extensive conversation that in other circles would be deemed unnecessary or wrong. “I’m certainly unable to simply sleep after a day like today! I’m sure Nicole is as well, aren’t you, dear?” She and Gerard sat as Nicoletta nodded, taking her own seat. The young woman also had questions. Questions for her parents, those she thought she knew very, very well. Apparently not.

Mel bowed his head slightly before sitting down, he was thankful for this meal. He smiled and shook his head, "It's ok, I don't mind really. Getting food and being seating with people itself is an honour" Mel replied light heartedly. He took a seat cautiously at the table, it had been years since he had eaten dinner on a chair, usually his meal was thrown to him on the floor.

Mel smiled grimly at the mention of the auction, "They like to think of themselves as humans and the most precious kind at that...but they don't realize how much of an animal they are" he said with a small shrug, his voice was but a whisper. He looked up inquisitively when they said he was allowed to ask any questions, he actually had quite a few for them.

He cleared his throat a little and with a shaky hand grabbed the glass full of juice and took a small sip to dampen his mouth before flinging out his questions. "Will I ever be able to visit my family? I have been saving money for them but I have never had the chance to see them in two years" his head was hung low as he spoke. When he was last taken away a younger brother of his had been sick, he wondered how Rob was now.

"Second, why are you so different? I mean, it is not a bad thing. Definitely not bad at all...but why? Why are you so kind and understanding?" he asked as he looked at Gerard, then Isla and finally Nicoletta. It was uncommon, not rare, but truly uncommon for people to be like them. Most people turned a blind eye out of fear, but not them. They were trying their best to help Mel.

Nicoletta nodded grimly at the words Mel said. Humans didn't seem to realize they were the most dangerous animals. They saw the invading 'aliens' as evil and horrible just because they were newcomers, and because they looked different. Nicoletta had discovered that, had the humans reacted with peace, compromises could have been reached in trades. But physical differences were frowned upon about as much as being poor nowadays.

As Gerard bit deeply into one of his own sandwiches, Isla glanced his way with a bit of an eyeroll and turned her attention fully on Mel. "Well, let's answer those questions in accordance to importance, shall we?" She smiled a bit, picking up one of her glasses and studying the clear, ruby contents. "We understand that lone slaves have families. After all, doesn't everyone? And it's terrible to know they've been torn apart just for the sake of a little money, then degraded by having numbers painted onto their faces as if they're items, rather than human beings or living, feeling creatures. Unfortunately, for the time being, we can't do anything about what family you have out there, hopefully safe. It's far too early, and people will begin to notice if we move too quickly. I can promise you, however, that you will see your family again. Our home is very large, Mel. When we find them, we'll bring them in with us. It's not illegal, after all, to take in a slave without buying them specifically from an auction. Most people are just too clean and stuffy to do such things." She shook her head and sipped her wine.

Gerard turned his attention to Mel now. "We're different because we have a sense of right and wrong." He said then. "We recently came to be unable to ignore the injustice those of little money or status have been forced to deal with. We do need to have someone else, however. Someone that, at one time, has been within the order of chaos that is the slavery ring. You've dealt with it many, many times I'm sure. We do try to lead a normal enough life, but you, both of you, must understand something." He and Isla stared at both Mel and Nicoletta. The girl steeled herself.

"We, and a group of others like us, have formed a group henceforth unnamed. We gather in the underground chambers, the entrance of which is in our back yard. Nicoletta, you've seen the entrance." She nodded. "Plans have been set in motion, but we need more than just well-known adults and their willing family members. We need younger ones, and we need one that's been inside." Isla looked at Mel. "Of course your family is terribly important to us, and we'll at the same time do well to find and bring them off the streets and away from the worry of being captured and separated. This is, however, regardless of whether you accept our offer to join us or not. But we do hope you will."

Nicoletta stared at Mel for a moment. Her words were lost, and she couldn't speak in reply.

Their answer, was satisfactory for now. He looked up at Isla and a flicker of hope could be seen in his eyes now, he was glad that she gave him the assurance he so desperately needed to hear. Mel would indeed be reunited with his family some day, and that someday..he hoped would be soon. "Thank you" he uttered merely as he turned to Gerard, Mel knew just by looking at him that Gerard was careful and tactful. Mel was beginning to understand that all of Gerard's actions would have a reason behind them.

Mel was momentarily taken back as Isla said they needed someone who had been on the inside. She was proposing to him an idea which Mel had only ever dreamed about before. Day after day, night after raven night he had thought about creating an uprising. An uprising, to free all like him. Mel felt his hands go numb from excitement, of course he would help! There was no doubt about it, "What do I have to do?" he asked eagerly.

The day was finally here, the day that the slaves once more would be liberated! They would be free to act and feel as humans once more, it was their chance to rise up against the rich and take back their humanity. He would be a saviour, he would set his family free just as he had screamed to them before he was dragged away. Mel would get to hear the laughter of his brothers and sisters, he would be able to see his sweet mothers soft smile.

There was no one more eager about this mission than Melchiorre, he was sure there was none who felt so passionately about this issue. None except his new found masters...no..maybe he would refer to them now as family.

Smiling Mel took the glass gingerly in his hand, he was used to steel glasses so he would have to be careful to not break this delicate shard. "To a new future" he said with a small smile as he raised his glass high and proud, meeting eyes with each of the three members who sat alongside the table with him.

Gerard and Isla, and even Nicoletta, dumbfounded though she was, copied Mel and raised their own glasses in a steely, confident toast to the words. "A new future." They said strongly, and the words themselves almost reverberated around their entire house, shaking dust from long-forgotten corridors and shaking the very stone of their foundation. Nicoletta was drawn out of her shock suddenly, then, and she smiled. "This. It was what all my training, my defensive and offensive practices were for?" Late at night Gerard would take her to the cellar, an open, wide area with a tall ceiling and, for hours after, they would fight. Both with and without weapons, mainly a dagger, easy to hide, and Gerard had noted he wanted Nicoletta to learn to shoot. He had an extensive gun collection, both antique and modern, all beautiful. Many were small, which was helpful considering they could be attached to the leg under the pants or dress and hidden well from the public.

Gerard nodded calmly. "Yes indeed. I need you to be ready for anything and not entirely helpless. With your particularly restraining clothing, you have to work a little harder, but you've also been focusing on stamina. All of us have been practicing, in fact. Each and every gathering, we've worked on our fighting skills."

"I've also got a seamstress friend." Isla said then. "She's part of the order, and has been working on clothing for both male and female members that are not only normal in appearance, but easy to move in, light in fabric, and stretchy, to allow us to breathe easier if we're running or fighting if need be. As I hope both of you know, this will be very dangerous later on. We'll start to raise suspicion though I hope we don't get caught specifically. Of course, that's what masks are for, anyway. In this, we can't consider ourselves to be on the right side of the law. Unfortunately the law is biased, preferring the rich, allowing them to get off with a slap on the hand and a no-no shake of the finger."

Gerard leaned forward, inspecting Mel. "That mark on your face needs to go." He sighed, and looked to Isla. She nodded. "We can get rid of it. Not us specifically, but a doctor of our ranks. He can target and eradicate the ink under and above your skin, but it can be quite painful." He shook his head, but went on with a bit of a sigh. "It's sad, but no one recalls the face of a slave. They recall, however, their number. Should we get rid of it, you'll pass as no more than a regular human, and with us, you'll be considered a family member."

"We know it might take a while to decide on." Isla took over. "After all, regardless of its dangers, it's still a surgery. But we can leave you to come to that conclusion." She yawned, and Nicoletta did as well. "Oh, I didn't realize how late it was..." Looking at the clock, she stood and stretched. "Mel, if it's not much trouble, won't you help me clear the table? We can't afford to be up too late, tomorrow we solidify our decisions, remove any questions or doubts, and buy some clothes for you that don't look like they've been dug from the trash."

Gerard nodded, and stood with Nicoletta. "Nicole, tonight we'll not bother with any fighting. You've already learned as much as I can teach you, after all---We'll focus on guns later."

Standing with her father, she buzzed with excitement she managed to hide. It was so much to take in, almost too much! But she knew she'd be tired... especially if she stayed awake to ask all the questions she had in mind.

Mel winced as Gerard described the horror of getting the mark off of his face. Unconciously as Mel flinched his hand flew towards the well known mark on his face, this mark had been only hell for him. It had hurt when it had been literally engraved, so of course it would hurt to remove such a terrible curse. "Yes, I think I will need to sleep this one over" he said with a small smile. As much as he wanted the mark gone...he really needed to do some thinking before he took the step forward of actually going through with it.

Melchiorre nodded his head at Isla's request of helping her clear up the table. He carefully went around and stacked the plates, and then the cutlery onto the plates. His work was silent and swift, carry his stack he headed to the kitchen sink. "I am sure you are all tired, so please don't worry about the dishes. I will wash them and set them to dry" he told Isla. Plus, Mel had already taken a quick nap before dinner.

Without waiting for Isla's reply Mel got straight to work, he seemed lost as he washed the dishes. If I do get rid of this horrid mark then Gerard is right...I will be a free man. But on the other hand, something may go wrong during the surgery, should I risk my freedom for my life? Frowning he stopped his mind from wandering, Mel looked at the water running over his fingers. He held his hand up and examined it idly, the little droplets of water tickled their way down him arm and up to his elbow. Mel smiled, he watched the little soap suds hiss and pop and crackle.

Giving a low laugh and shaking his head once he finished the rest of the dishes up, there wasn't much remaining to wash. Quickly and carefully scrubbing the rest of the cutlery he turned off the tap. He looked around the kitchen until he found a cloth that was meant for wiping. Mel wiped the sides of the sink for excess water and carried the cloth out with him to the dinner table. He worked slow deliberately as he rid the table of any stray crumbs that may have been left behind.

Melchiorre sighed with relief and satisfaction as he finished his little duty of cleaning. Heading back to the kitchen and quickly putting the cloth away in its place he once more trudged along towards his room, he climbed the stairs a bit slower this time, just taking in everything that had gone on in just one days time. He sighed, tired and content as he reached the door to his attic room, opening he walked in and literally pounced on the bed. Sleep knocking him unconscious as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Isla rolled her eyes, but left Mel to his work. It was, after all, a part of his job, even in the midst of their planning. Things had to seem real, and had to be normal on the outside, a facade placed upon everyone involved so no one would catch onto anything. And now, Mel and Nicoletta would be very large parts of their plans. She went up with Gerard and Nicoletta, pausing halfway down the hall with them.

"Nicole, do you understand the importance of this?" Gerard asked. "Do you understand how complicated things can get?"

"I do. But how many others are there?" Nicoletta was thrumming with energy. She wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, that was for sure. Her parents seemed to sense that as well, because Gerard put a hand on her shoulder.

"Not many others. But enough. Enough to do something and stand up against the inhumanity so many others suffer. But you have to sleep tonight, nothing else will happen until tomorrow. The sooner you sleep, the sooner morning comes."

Nicoletta sighed, but resigned herself to that knowledge. It was only obvious. She went to her room down the hall and closed the door, shutting the book she'd left open and going to her bed. Flopping down, she stared at the ceiling for what felt like an hour, and eventually found sleep.

~~

Morning came with the brightening of the gaslight outside her window. Though it was gradual, Nicoletta woke as though someone had shone a glaring lamp into her formless dreams. Opening her eyes, she sat up quickly, so much so that it made her head spin a bit and she had to lie back for a moment. Sitting up again, she gathered up her long hair and twisted it up to keep it out of her face, then went around to gather up some clothes to take with her for a bath. It was a big day. A big day. She might have gotten up before everyone else.

Dark green was a specific color for Nicoletta. She liked the earthy tones, and this time decided for a lighter red. It was different, as was life in general now. Now that she knew what her parents and their associates were up to. Now that she was a part of it. With everything in her hands, Nicoletta pushed open her door and stepped out.

[[I apologize for my serious procrastination! ]]

Mel had been fast asleep, even snoring a bit. He let out a small grunt as he heard chirping and felt the warmth of the sun brush across his face. Swatting the imaginary trickles of the rays he turned restlessly in his bed. What was that soft, cushiony feeling? Melchiorre's brows furrowed as his eyes snapped open, he sat up dazed, he held his head steady. It took him a few moments to realize where he was, that was right. He had been sold once more, but this time his luck had been with and not against him.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed he stood up, his body swayed as he carefully steadied himself. Grabbing the shirt, which he had found as he rummaged through the closet, he threw it over his body and buttoned up. He had never been allowed to sleep in, he could already hear the hustle and bustle of the home. His mind raced over the conversations that had taken place last night, a grin placed itself on his young face. Mel couldn't help but feel gleeful about last nights conversations. Soon, many like him would be free.

Melchiorre made his way down the grand stairs, he headed towards the kitchen straight away. He wanted to check if Isla needed any help with breakfast or any thing else for that matter. They were being so kind to him, it was only fair that Mel earned his stay by helping them. Last night, though Mel's body had slept his mind had been awake. He had been thinking about whether he should get the tattooed number removed or not, and he had finally come to a conclusion. If he got the number removed then he could return to his family and give them a better life. So, in the end Melchiorre had decided that he would indeed get the tattoo removed.

He had also had a very strange dream last night, Mel wasn't one to dream often but when he did his dreams were always peculiar. Though he could only remember bits and pieces of it now, the dream replayed in his mind over and over like a story.

People, people every where. Holding hands, becoming one finally. The rich and the poor hand in hand. No one above the other, and on top there lay a hill, and on that hill a man stood. Proud and joyous. He stood and he screamed, he let out screams of encouragement and joy.

It had been a rather vivd dream, very bright and loud. If Mel remembered correctly the dream had also been in colour. The boy stood beside the table lost in deep thought, his face hopeful.