<span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="font-family:Open Sans">The younger of the two males spoke, telling him that the person who had dealt his wounds was not on this vessel. Was that supposed to make him feel better? Of course, Cygnus wasn't around. Altair had a hard time picturing him anywhere else besides captaining his own ghostly ship. Was that really such a good thing though? Now Altair was starting over, taking his chances with an entirely new set of people he knew nothing about. The prospect of beginning his negotiations fresh was terrifying. He was exhausted and didn't want to keep up pretenses as be pleaded for his life.<br/>
<br/>
“If you've nothing planned then <i>why</i> am I tied up?” Altair demanded defensively. He didn't say what he thought they might have planned for him. He didn't want to give him any ideas nor did he wanted to make known what others had forced upon him. His wounds were obvious enough and they could make their assumptions there. Not all of the horrors he'd endured needed to be aired. These were not Dusanians and he doubted they would award him a sympathetic ear.<br/>
<br/>
The young man's reasoning perplexed him even further, but he remembered the way they'd carried on once they'd realized he was very much a male.<br/>
<br/>
“You thought I was a woman,” Altair pointed out, not believing he'd been moved so altruistically. “Were you disappointing when you realized it?” He'd squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling. It had nothing to do with his temperature, more so his panic as his restraints.<br/>
<br/>
“What now then? Now that you've saved me? Shall I remain like this for the rest of the voyage, or until you can make up your mind?” Altair was at the mercy of someone once again. Did they want him to beg? Cygnus liked that, depending on his mood. Altair hated himself for all that the man had turned him into but he wasn't above using what he'd learned during the whole experience.<br/>
<br/>
“Please,<i> please</i>, I will be good. Lock me up if that's what you wish. Do <i>whatever</i> you want, but <i>please</i>, untie me. I will not fight.” His resolve and defenses were crumbling, tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes as his strong veneer cracked, much thinner than it had once been.<br/>
<br/>
“I know how to serve. I know how to behave, just give me the chance. I am well trained.” Or at least he had been once upon a time. He could remember his poise, grace, and etiquette. “I have the brand to prove it.” It was the one thing he still had that tied him irrefutably to Dusan. It made it obvious what he was, and his purpose. If anyone took the take to track down someone knowledgeable about Dusanian slaves they could decode it. It would connect back to his place of birth and where he'd been bred, a place of remarkable reputation even if Altair had been half-ruined.<br/>
<br/>
“Tell me what it is that you want,” Altair went on, respiration increasing. He wouldn't provide his skill set, not offering anything, but instead wanting them to speak their terms first. They had no idea what all he was willing to offer if it came down to it back he'd keep that close for now and only give in to their demands. Perhaps it would keep him out of trouble.</span></span>