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She was born perfectly on time, during the day of the 21st bilunar perigee of the 5th dim season's equinox. Because of this, she got to spend precious hours with her tired, blood-covered mother, still sticky with afterbirth, before the owner of the breeding farm pulled the newborn human grub from its crying mother and held it up into the cool evening's air, inspecting it. The little girl screamed in protest, but her protests fell on deaf ears as the troll pronounced her to be of good stock. The mother would be given a few weeks to recover before being thrown back into the mating pit to be impregnated again by a male of the troll's choosing. He took the human grub back to his hive as the mother called out to his retreating back, wordlessly begging for her child back.
The grub, of course, didn't see the farm owner until it was old enough to start training as a respectable pet. And so, two sweeps old, her handler makes her put on her prettiest dress and sends her out alone to his study. Knees trembling, she enters the giant doors and stands in the middle of the block, facing the troll sitting at the desk. He's scrawny and a bit seedy, with tightly spiralled horns like corkscrews protruding from greasy hair. He finishes writing whatever it is that he's writing and sets the pen down, steepling his fingers and looking at her. The girl spends a long time staring back at him, at his dangerous teal eyes surrounded by yellow, before she remembers what her handle had told her and grabs the sides of her dress, lowing her head and dropping into a curtsy. The farm owner gives her a brief smile.
“Well done,” he says, and his voice is scratchy and rough, so unlike the honey of her handler's, and her sky-blue eyes fill with tears. “What is your name?”
“I – I don't have a name,” she says, rising from her curtsy and looking back at him.
He waves a finger at her. “Naughty, naughty. You are a pet, my dear. Always address a troll as Master or Mistress, understand?”
She swallows, hard. “Yes, Master.”
He leers at her, lips pulled over fangs in a caricature of a grin. “Very good. I think I'll call you ... Andrea.”
“Andrea,” the girl repeats. “Okay. Thank you, Master.”
“You're a fast learner. Buyers will like that. Do you know what your purpose is, Andrea?”
The girl thinks long and hard. “No, Master,” she says finally.
He nods slowly. “Of course you don't, you're still just a wiggler. Come here, Andrea.”
Obediently, she circles around the desk as he crooks one claw-tipped finger at her and allows him to clasp her under her arms, lifting her up to sit on his lap. One hand is firm, splayed across her back, and the other traces up her dark skin on the inside of her leg. It feels weird, but he never goes past the hem of her dress, so she decides that it's okay. Besides, her handler told her she's not allowed to question anything the breeding master did, and had installed that lesson with whips and switches.
“You,” said Master, still rubbing at her thigh, “are going to be a pet to whichever highblood pays the most for you. You'll please them and make them happy and do everything they want you to. Would you like to do that, Andrea?”
“I don't know, Master,” she replies honestly, “but if it's the right then to do, then I will do it.”
He laughs and removes his hand from her thigh to pat her head. “A good answer, my dear. Go to bed now, dawn is coming soon.”
Andrea hops off his lap and curtsies one last time with an obedient “Yes, Master,” before dashing out of the study and back to her handler.
Andrea quickly settles into her new routine. Wake up at the crack of dusk, set out clothes for Master, wake him up, help him peel off the slime that's dried to his body. Try to ignore his wandering hands, wait on him during breakfast, eating what he offers her out of his fingers. Then they retire to his study where he gives her lessons on decorum, modesty, and, a few sweeps later, how to please a troll. She takes to biting her first to muffle her cries of pain, because Master will backhand her if she makes a sound of discomfort.
She still gets her regular beatings, of course, but she thinks she prefers them to her other lessons, which are much more painful. One day, Master throws her into a wall and she can feel the bone crunch as her arm breaks. He leaves her there, crumpled on the floor. Andrea has to set her arm herself, but it hurts too much to do just right. Her forearm has a strange bend to it now, and Master loves to drag her around with a too-tight grip over it, listening to her grit her teeth to lock down the hiss of pain.
She's kept for sweeps and sweeps, watching new humans be bred, raised, and sold. Any time a customer expresses interest in her, Master tells them she is deficient, too stupid and hardheaded to be a good, obedient pet. And she believes him, because why else would he not sell her?
Until, that is, one day a troll the likes of which she's never seen walks into the plantation house. This troll has long flowing hair and a circlet of gold, inlaid with bright fuchsia.
Master bows low, and Andrea drops to her knees, confused. “Hello, Mr Greela,” says the seatroll, and she has a gorgeous voice, melodic with the sound of lapping water. “I'm interested in a human.”
“Of course,” Master says, and Andrea has never heard him be quite so sugary with any seadweller before. “Let me show you what we have in stock. Andrea, round up the pets.”
Knowing this routine, Andrea bows again. “Yes, Master,” she says, and hurries out of the block.
The dark skinned girl gathers up the younger wigglers and helps clean them up, situating them into their best clothes before lining them up and parading them out into the dining block. Obediently, they all stand in a line as Andrea takes her usual place behind Master. The seatroll frowns.
“I'm not interested in ones so young. Do you have any older humans?”
“I'm sorry, Your Luminescence, but we don't. I can keep one for you until it grows older if you like?” your Master offers.
She shakes her elegant head and Andrea is sort of breathtaken with how beautiful she is. “No. Tell me about this one.” And now she looks directly at Andrea, and for the first time, Andrea feels seen, not just glossed over as one would a piece of furniture.
Master fidgets, and Andrea is struck again by something she thought she'd never see. “Uh, this one, is, defective, Your Luminescence, I'd hate for you to take it and not be satisfied-”
The troll holds up a hand, stalling him. “I do not care,” she explains. “How much?”
“Um, ah, 250 000 Imperial notes, Your Luminescence, but -”
“For a defective human? You only charge 100 000 apiece for the others.” The seatroll leans forward and Andrea sort of understands why Master is so nervous. This woman knows she belongs above him. “Let's try that again, shall we?”
“50 000 notes, Your Luminescence.”
The troll sits back and claps her hands, smile firmly back in place. “Wonderful!”
Andrea has nothing to pack, so she leaves the plantation with the seadweller. “I'm Feferi,” says the troll, “Feferi Peixes.”
“Yes, Mistress,” says Andrea demurely. Feferi frowns.
“Call me Feferi, please. I hate all those so called respectable titles. What do you want me to call you?”
“I would like to be called whatever you see fit, Mist- Feferi,” says the human, eyes downcast. Feferi stops.
“Look at me,” she says gently. Andrea raises her head hesitantly. “You're safe with me. The reason I bought you is because I could see how terribly he treated you. I'm not your owner, I'm your equal.”
The human swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. Equal? “He ... He called me Andrea,” she says softly.
“What would you like to be called?” Feferi asks, just as soft.
The girl brings a hand up and toys with her short black hair. “... Jane?”
Feferi beams. “Hello, Jane, it's wonderful to meet you.”
Feferi takes Jane back to her hive, and tells Jane she has free run of the parts of the hive that are above the water. Jane quickly takes to the kitchen, and Feferi likes to join her. The two spend hours baking cakes and cookies and muffins and all sorts of goods, talking and laughing and slowly showing Jane what it's like to have a friend instead of a master.
“Can you read?” asks Feferi one day. Jane shakes her head. “I was never allowed. I can pick out simple words, but even that wasn't allowed.” Feferi tsks and promises to teach her.
So, while they're waiting for the cake to bake in the oven, Feferi brings up her old schoolfeeding husktop and sets Jane about playing with the schoolfeeding games. The heiress is amazed at how quickly Jane learns, and soon enough sets the girl up with her own Trollian account.
-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] has started trolling a random stranger! --
TG: hey tere brosis
TG: *there