<span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="font-family:Open Sans">Altair had been forced into the iron prison regardless of his balking, and he tried to make the best of it. At least now he wasn't tied, and used the freedom of movement to stretch out limbs that had grown stiff from being restrained for so long. It was a while before anyway came to take the slaves up, one by one, but they didn't seem that much worse for wear upon returning, but Altair still grew nervous when the man reached for him. He tried to jerk away from him if only because he didn't appreciate the way he was being handled. Fingers dug into his alabaster skin, setting the tone for what was likely another bruise, and then he was shoved inside a cabin. Altairs temper had been given time to simmer, and he was obviously irritated upon arrival.<br/>
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“Your men are needlessly rough,” Altair spoke like an accusation. He looked up, sending a prayer in lilting Dusanian that he remain whole throughout this experience, then he turned his attention back to the Captain. So far he'd not gotten his point across.<br/>
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“I think you know very little of my home country,” Altair started. “Out of all of the goods imported out of Dusan, I am the most valuable by far. Rare, especially outside of our home country. They usually do not like foreigners owning their slaves, so it we are not commonly sold anywhere but there. My training is extensive. I am educated, can read and write, and have been specifically groomed to help my master shoulder political dealings. I have been schooled in dance my entire life, and have performed for many high society individuals.” There were some others, but mainly Altair didn't want to highlight those things, primarily how extensively he was trained in the pleasures of the flesh. He had no desire to sleep with any of these men, and he certainly didn't want that getting around.<br/>
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“With control of the commodity, and lack of competition, you would be able set your price. You will devalue me if the bruises continue, and drastically so if you allow me to be scarred.” Altair's flesh so far was smooth, free of anything of permanence.<br/>
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“The others are hardworking, though I don't know so much about where they came from. The eldest, I believe is from Ellania, but has experience working a farm. Perhaps there is task you can set them to on the ship. They are not dangerous, or untrustworthy. Just tired, weary-travel slaves.” Altair would never throw another to the wolves to make himself look better, at least not in these circumstances. When their lives weren't depending on it, he could afford to be a little bit catty, but now was neither the time, nor place.</span></span>