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It was a terrible idea and he knew it, but it wasn't the first terrible idea that Rhys had ever had, and it wasn't going to be the last.
And very honestly? He was pretty much out of good ones. All he knew was that he couldn't keep going the way he was going. Living on the edge of starvation was dangerous for far too many reasons, and he was tired of it. The nightly hunting put him at risk, and the few human friends he had...he could only take so much from them. He needed another source, a safe, reliable one, and this...well.
It was a terrible idea. But it was a possible solution, and there weren't a lot of other life options that included "new vampire" and "stability" in the same sentence.
He was still arguing with himself when he eased past the bouncers, into a smoky industrial waterfront warehouse reeking of lust and desperation. So that was the line of reasoning, utterly, completely fucked-up reasoning, that had led him to a black market slave auction. Even when he was alive, he'd known about them, or at least, heard the rumors. Now that he was One Of Them, with a backstage pass to the shadowy underside of the monster world? Full access.
A passing brunette in spectacular gold and green silk glowered a warning at him, eyes narrowed to vertical slits and giving off the warning odor of perfume and venom. Rhys just stared back at the naga as she passed, giving her a blank, uncaring look with scarlet eyes. That's right, sister, keep slithering on. Baby fangs doesn't mean I can't still make boots out of your scaly ass.
Okay, maybe not actually one of them, but close enough. Certainly close enough to get into their little private club parties, if he was willing to put up with the disdain, filthy looks, and occasional outright fear or hate. And as despicable as he found it, as much as the reek of pain and rage and desperation threatened to choke him, at least he could argue he was doing something good, right?
He had the perfect undercover disguise, because he was a vampire. Take someone home. Take off the chains, take them away from the beatings, the humiliation, and the threat of death, keep them in relative comfort in exchange for...just a little blood. Not a terrible exchange, in the grand scheme. And this was a small auction- not too much competition, no high rollers. Most of what he'd find here would be the dregs of the market: the injured and retired pit fighters, the aging house servants, the unruly, half-feral teenagers. He could find what he was looking for easily enough, without a ruckus, and then be done with it. Go home quietly and just...see if he could make it work.
Not a terrible idea. Really. He'd had worse, and this had potential. He rubbed absently at the leg of his leather pants, making his way toward the preview hall. The antiquities and rare goods normally would have drawn his attention, but tonight, that wasn't what he was looking for. Tonight, his attention was on the cages at the far back, on the platforms set behind nice, safe rope boundaries.
And very honestly? He was pretty much out of good ones. All he knew was that he couldn't keep going the way he was going. Living on the edge of starvation was dangerous for far too many reasons, and he was tired of it. The nightly hunting put him at risk, and the few human friends he had...he could only take so much from them. He needed another source, a safe, reliable one, and this...well.
It was a terrible idea. But it was a possible solution, and there weren't a lot of other life options that included "new vampire" and "stability" in the same sentence.
He was still arguing with himself when he eased past the bouncers, into a smoky industrial waterfront warehouse reeking of lust and desperation. So that was the line of reasoning, utterly, completely fucked-up reasoning, that had led him to a black market slave auction. Even when he was alive, he'd known about them, or at least, heard the rumors. Now that he was One Of Them, with a backstage pass to the shadowy underside of the monster world? Full access.
A passing brunette in spectacular gold and green silk glowered a warning at him, eyes narrowed to vertical slits and giving off the warning odor of perfume and venom. Rhys just stared back at the naga as she passed, giving her a blank, uncaring look with scarlet eyes. That's right, sister, keep slithering on. Baby fangs doesn't mean I can't still make boots out of your scaly ass.
Okay, maybe not actually one of them, but close enough. Certainly close enough to get into their little private club parties, if he was willing to put up with the disdain, filthy looks, and occasional outright fear or hate. And as despicable as he found it, as much as the reek of pain and rage and desperation threatened to choke him, at least he could argue he was doing something good, right?
He had the perfect undercover disguise, because he was a vampire. Take someone home. Take off the chains, take them away from the beatings, the humiliation, and the threat of death, keep them in relative comfort in exchange for...just a little blood. Not a terrible exchange, in the grand scheme. And this was a small auction- not too much competition, no high rollers. Most of what he'd find here would be the dregs of the market: the injured and retired pit fighters, the aging house servants, the unruly, half-feral teenagers. He could find what he was looking for easily enough, without a ruckus, and then be done with it. Go home quietly and just...see if he could make it work.
Not a terrible idea. Really. He'd had worse, and this had potential. He rubbed absently at the leg of his leather pants, making his way toward the preview hall. The antiquities and rare goods normally would have drawn his attention, but tonight, that wasn't what he was looking for. Tonight, his attention was on the cages at the far back, on the platforms set behind nice, safe rope boundaries.
