Abaddon Summer

Chapter Six

AN: Trigger warning: while this chapter demonstrates a possible origin and reason for certain time-honoured traditions, by making the traditions instead of letting the events happen naturally, the Seven circumvent true consent. 

"You, boy!" the matron shouted. "Get your ass over here."

She grabbed him by the shoulder, yanked him down, then grabbed a handful of hair as she dragged him from the line for food. She muttered the entire way, jabbing him at every opportunity, with the knuckle of her thumb, right under his ribs. She shoved so hard that he gagged, his stomach trying to heave up its contents as she threw him into the bathroom.

"We have a lord coming who wants a dandy," she hissed. "You'll take him and make good, or you'll be out on the street tomorrow. Do you hear me? No more nonsense. Now wash yourself up. He arrives soon."

He washed, grimacing at the robe barely more than a dress with its frills and little flowers, then he headed out front with the others who worked for their board. The girls edged closer to him as men began filtering in. He curled his lip at a few of them, aware of the limpening properties his snarl had on men.

A lord arrived with a man who limped along with a cane, favouring his left leg. The lord motioned to him. Scrunching up his nose, he ducked his head and stepped forward.

"First time's the worst," the lord said, turning to his companion. "Sure you're ready for this?"

"Perfectly," the other responded before asking him. "Where to?"

He made a motion, keeping his head down as he tried to snarl. He led the man with the cane to one of the rooms and stepped in first. He knew that was the way of things. The girls liked to show off their backsides, but their dresses hugged them tightly. His robe just looked like he was a wall trying to look pretty.

"Right, off with that nonsense," the man said as the door closed, and the lock slipped into place.

Off went the robe. He dropped it to the side, presenting a bruised body to the man. Stupid to push him into it when he looked like they were using him as a target dummy. The matron had him beaten for sneaking off again, but he always came back, so he didn't understand why it was a problem. Especially when she kept talking about getting rid of him.

He had to stay.

It wasn't safe for those like him in the world. He knew that he'd know when it was safe, but he hadn't felt it a day in his life. He also knew that life would be much worse if he left unprotected.

Which meant lowering himself to her demands.

"What's your name?" the man asked. "Sorry, my name is Trild Kaulu."

"Good for you," he growled.

"And you are?"

He shook his head.

Stay, boy.

That was his earliest memory. The matron had never called him anything else, even though he was nearly old enough to be a man.

"Boy," he said.

"There's no fucking way I'm calling you Boy," Trild countered, his cane coming between his feet as his weight evened out between his feet. "That won't do at all. It's demeaning. Unless... do you like that name?"

"No, but that's what the matron calls me."

"He objectifies, marvellous," Trild said with a smile. "My dear, what I propose is we have sex."

They were standing in a brothel. The matron dealt with many things, but her main business was turning girls and certain boys out for men to enjoy.

He frowned and looked around the room, then shrugged at Trild.