<span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="font-family:Open Sans">“You're feeding me, and you said that you wouldn't beat me any more. I don't think you've had a sudden change of character. It must be for a reason,” Altair supplied his purely analytical approach to a simple guess. “Two days isn't enough time,” he said, frowning. “I'm going to look awful still when we arrive. I hope it was worth the lost coin.” It wasn't shot at Cygnus like an accusation, just a simple statement. He looked to the food, the Captain explaining why he had prepared it for him.<br/>
<br/>
“We don't have things like this in Dusan,” he admitted. Dried meat, yes, the hard biscuit no. He wouldn't have likely known any better, but he wasn't likely stupid enough to break his teeth. Speaking now, his voice was devoid of emotion, but he'd at least found it again, and Cygnus hadn't smacked him for talking. He hadn't done so the night before either, when Altair was telling him all sorts of things about his homeland.<br/>
<br/>
<i>There are none, slave</i><br/>
<br/>
Altair stopped eating and forced himself upright, a look of alarm painted across his features. The first thing he'd shown since Cygnus had finished fucking him.<br/>
<br/>
“There are no slaves in Weiss?” Altair balked. “Then why on earth would you take me there?” It didn't make any sort of sense, and his prospects at that point sounded bleak. He'd be hidden away, and the way Cygnus was speaking made it sound like this man who wouldn't be his master – only one that would pretend to be, would kill him.<br/>
<br/>
“Why would someone pay you anything only to kill me? You are under-utilizing the potential to make a substantial sum. Even Ellania, where they don't mind their slaves marked, would likely serve you better. Dusanian slaves are in fashion there, and Dusan only allows so many to be exported. If you sold me in Dusan, someone would still pay you handsomely just to see me from the hands of someone like you.” <i>Maybe</i>. Altair couldn't be certain, but neither could Cygnus. He was only hoping that he could be convinced he'd be better marketed and presented elsewhere.<br/>
<br/>
“<i>Please</i>, I will be <i>good</i>,” Altair pleaded, fear and dread clouding him more than if Cygnus had threatened to whip him again, and he'd only threatened him with the prospect of freedom. Altair didn't want it. He never had. He certainly didn't want to be freed, only to have to serve someone in a foreign country without any of the protection his being a slave, <i>property</i>, would come with. Free men were not valuable.<br/>
<br/>
“What do you possibly mean? You are no slave, not close. You travel the oceans no man is likely to ever govern,” he questioned, confused on how this could be. In what ways did Cygnus serve? If so, who was he indebted to? He had only what he'd known, and the examples of slavery that he'd seen. Dusan was very strict with the way things were meant to be. Service was provided, and in most cases <i>devotion</i>, and in return slaves were properly housed, fed, cared for, and above all else provided protection. Status, as well, not that Altair ever hoped to reclaim his status in Dusan at that point. It was his ambition that had him picked by an Ellanian ambassador to begin with.<br/>
<br/>
“Please, <i>please</i>. I will help you market me properly. I do not wish to go to Weiss.” He'd stopped eating, and clasped his hands together, pressing his lips to his fingers, but he wasn't praying. Right now the only person he could think to ask anything of was Cygnus himself.<br/>
<br/>
"I don't want my freedom." He wanted the world he knew. "I will do <i>whatever </i>you want. Just take me back to Dusan, or Ellania even. I will show you what it is truly like to be served in the only way that a Dusanian slave can serve." Ellania was not his first choice, but at least he knew where he stood there. He could scrape by and get control of his life again.</span></span>