Time Separates Us (Francis)

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Word Count: 922

Tags: Francis

The auction had begun to approach and the days no longer blurred together, humans seemed to be wondering the maze of the underground. Peeking into the cells, examining their future purchases as if they were trying to give them some sort of appraisal for merchandise.

Due to the proximity of the next auction the redhead found himself in a cell alone. It seemed to be a common belief that he would tarnish the reputation of the other mutants if allowed to stay in a cell with them during this time. This decision was made after the week prior when a guard caught him reaching out of the cell holding onto a handful of human hair. Humans seemed less likely to approach any mutants that put them within Hamish’s reach. Guards were only able to glare at the mutant while escorting him to a separate cell, a smirk plastered on his lips knowing he found another way to anger the people keeping him captive. Until the auction was over the guards were unable to strike the mutants. Having pale easily bruised skin was a gift in these cases, if hit bruising would happen making him appear as damaged possibly lowering his price. No one wanted damaged goods after all.

While the guards were unable to raise a hand to the mutant in fear of leaving marks they found another way to punish the mutant. Cells normally were given the minimum of a beds with cheap sheets but those luxuries were stripped away as punishment. The cell was desolate other than the redheaded mutant sitting in one of the corners.
Lacking the normal bed and thin sheets was probably the worst punishment the guards were able to give Hamish. The cold was one of the few things that managed to get to him but instead of apologizing or begging like he knew they wanted Hamish just sat there smile plastered until they left. Once the guards were out of view his body began to shiver as he felt the chilled Russian air brush against his skin. The lack of body fat always made things difficult when it came to winter time but begging was below the mutant.

Shivers continued to work over his body until he heard the sound of footsteps. Someone was heading toward his cage but the steps were too like to be that of a guard. No it had to be a human come to inspect him. They weren’t going to find a kind mutant looking for a home in this cell. Hamish knew he didn’t help give mutants a good name when he attacked any human that dared to glance at him too long showing slight interest. Being owned by someone was something Hamish had been against once he found out what mutants were to the world. Forcing his body to stop shivering he listened to see where the human would approach from. He planned to more away from where the human was. If they wanted to inspect his body they weren’t going to have him cooperating with any of this. In the end they wouldn’t want to waste a sing cent of him so it didn’t matter, they shouldn’t even bother looking at him.

Hamish was unsure if he ever behaved well during any of his first auction or if he had always been one to misbehave. All he could recall was the first time a human came to check him out before the auction spent the time complimenting him and getting him to warm up slowly even if he wasn’t that keen on being around humans. Slowly he felt someone cared for him, his parents hadn’t wanted him but this human claimed to care and even promised to give him a home, something he hadn’t had most of his life. The auction came and he saw the man standing in the crowd, he just wanted out of the underground and to know he was actually worth something to someone. Hearing the man’s voice bidding on other mutants Hamish’s hopes slowly were crushed. When he finally made it to the stage to be auctioned the man was no longer among the crowd, no the man was heading out of the underground with his new purchase not bothering to cast a single glance back at Hamish. His trust for humans already weak but this along with the hungry eyes inspecting him were enough to destroy any trust of humans. In the end he was just a toy to them and once they finished playing with him he’d find himself back in the underground where he guessed he belonged.
It wasn’t long after this event that guards often saw the mutant preforming sexual acts and the next day fighting the same mutant as if nothing happened. Few mutants now were able to get past his shell, his quick tongue would often spit insults toward each of them to create space between them. He didn’t want a relationship with anyone, they would always leave in the end.

Caught in the thoughts he forgot about the sound of footsteps nearing him and just sat staring off as his red eye lashes brushed his cheeks each time he blinked. The shivering began a new and he sat in the corner with a lost stare. Bottle green eyes almost looked lifeless, any trace of happiness had vanished long ago. There was no reason for his playful smiles or anything now. He was alone in every way now no one would care to see his smile.

template made by MISSO for use only by DEE

[Deleted]

"You see, I'm not a man I am the king of illusion At heart, may I be forgiven, I am the king, the king of fools"

The day certainly was a chilly one. It was a numbing cold, sending shivers up and down Francis's spine. His skin prickled from the cool air as he entered the all too familiar Underground, and the dull, isolating surrounding walls of grey did nothing to help warm him.

A new auction was quickly approaching, and the days passed fairly quickly as Francis waited. It seemed they wouldn't be offering permanent contracts this time – unfortunate. It meant that he would have to wait until next time to actually be able to start his goal of saving those trapped in the Underground by purchasing them for good. It was the legal procedure; safer in comparison to a lawless strategy that could be easily procured by the Freedom Fighters – although, that didn't necessarily mean it would work. Francis's personal method was certainly slower and cost money – something he had plenty of, but at the same time, it funded more of the government's ever increasing supply of wealth. It wasn't exactly the most favorable option he had, but it was currently the most risk-free, and Francis needed to catch the least amount of suspicion as possible.

He was here today to peruse those who would be up for auction; he had seen many from previous visits and check-ups on how the entire set-up was running, but it was time to be able to see them with the actual purpose of looking to purchase. Originally, Francis hadn't been planning on bidding for a few reasons: one, although he did have a large amount of money, it was always limited – he had to make good choices, especially when the permanent contracts became quite pricey; two, he didn't have the intention of relieving a person for a short reprieve of the Hell they suffered down here, only to return them back again when the contract was over. That particular aspect would not contribute to help earning the trust Francis wanted, and in retrospect, was a risky gamble he was still debating on whether he should take or not. And yet, it was a chance to privately discuss and perhaps form a plan for the future with whoever he would take home with him. It all depended on his options. Francis would have to carefully observe and select who he would think would be the best choice for this – and there were a lot of aspects and circumstances to consider carefully.

There were some others milling around, peering curiously into the harsh cages. The guards watched, their presence firm and solely there to ensure there would be no trouble. They were nothing to laugh at; regardless, Francis wasn't here for notes on the Underground's security today. He examined the contents of the cells, only to find familiar faces he had already seen many times before. He didn't know their names, having not spoken with them personally before, but it would be easy enough to look up their files later for reference. Continuing on, further, Francis surveyed the area. There seemed to be some cells that were originally occupied to be empty now – which was quite strange, considering there hadn't been an auction held since his last visit. It was worthy to be investigated, he supposed, as it was most likely one of the confined people had gotten into some sort of trouble and was isolated from the rest. Of course, the reason why they were isolated was probably because they were dangerous and refused to cooperate.

Perhaps, if they were reasonable and were keen on what he wanted to suggest, Francis would have himself a good candidate for the job; if they were willing. But if the person was a wild card, someone who Francis was not positive he could trust for sure, then he would have to find another. He did have someone in mind in case he was unable to find a better option, just in case – at this rate, he may have no other choice.

Regardless, he approached the cell in the back with measured, steady footsteps. The already cool air turned colder, and Francis could see his breath as he exhaled. He frowned. The Underground should be taking better care of their so-called “merchandise” if they wanted to sell; it would not do any good to purchase anybody ill. They were already pushing it so far off the edge – this was throwing it off the cliff themselves, not even caring about any repercussions when everybody was a witness to the crime.

Peering into the cage, Francis saw a man, slumped over on the cold floor. It must be sucking the heat out of him, Francis thought, as he sat, motionless, and his green eyes were hopeless – there was no life to them. His hair was a fiery red color, something amazingly rare, and Francis thought it was beautiful; wonderfully so. It was just terrible that this man was locked up to freeze to death in a cell, where he had done nothing wrong except be born into the world with a special ability.

“Hello,” he greeted as he crouched, quietly, doing his best to sympathize and not pity, ”I am Francis. What is your name?”

A shame, such a shame.

electric has gangnam style

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Word Count: 801

Tags: Francypants

The cold continued to suck any heat from his body making his mind begin to drift off as he began to drift to sleep due to the cold. Soon the guards would return and give him something to shield his body with or turn out his lights so the shadows could protect his body from the cold filling the cells. Turning out the lights was unlikely due to the danger he posed to the humans that were currently inspecting the line up for the next auction. Once the auction was over he hoped to once more have a cellmate to use for warmth. At his point he would even debate cuddling a woman for warmth with how the frozen floor sucked the heat from his form. Anything that offered heat for his thin form was worth it at the moment.

Constantly dropping weight Hamish wondered if on the chart clipped to his cell there was slashes crossing out his former weight only to have a lower number next to it also slashed out. Maybe they just left the weight as what he was at the start of each year not bothering with the constant fluctuation but humans had to be able to hell he was too thin for the written weight to be close to the truth. Everything on his record clipped to his cell were only things the guards wanted the humans to know about mutants. Name, age, height, weight, power, along with previous numbers of purchase were all listed for the humans to view and use as a guide to know if they were interested. Temperament was left off not wanting to scare humans away from mutants before the auction; they hoped mutants would behave during the visits tricking the humans into believing them to be something they weren’t.
Hamish was one that guards seemed to hope would behave for a moment or two making someone willing to bid on him. Any temptation someone might have had always were dashed when Hamish would snarl curling his lips back like a feral cat. His rare features could only be used so much as a selling point before his mask used for humans caused everyone to lose interest.

“Hello, I am Francis. What is your name?”
A soft French accent cut through the once silence air causing the dead green orbs to get a sense of life again. Even within the hell there was a glint to them that might look like hope but he didn’t know the meaning of that anymore. Pulling his curled form away from the bars the green eyes focused on the man who crouched outside of the cell. The simple words dripped with pity for him.

Moving toward the front of the cell with a smirk on his face he slammed his hand against the bars making them vibrate for a moment. “Cannae ye read mah papers? Name is Hamish Alasdair Stuart,” his heavily accented voice sounded light despite the hiss to his words. Standing now it was clear that his shirt didn’t even get closet to hugging his thin form but instead bloomed around him and the dirty slacks threatened to fall from his hips that currently held them into place.

Eyes trailed over the blonde talking in every detail and trying to categorize the man. Well-maintained hair, expensive clothing, and appears to come here often. It was hard for Hamish to decide if it was just a businessman or a member of the government but they had to do something to have so much money to spend on clothing and their appearance. Probably more money was slept on just that coat that Hamish had ever seen at one time due to coming from a door family.

Pale hands reached through the bars taking hold of Francis’ chin forcing blue eyes to meet the glare of poisonous green ones. Hatred swam through the green orbs telling a story of anger and pain that seemed to have yet to cease for him. “Ye'r 'ere tae pick a freish pet? Sorry keep lookin doll face amurnay a hing,” even with the bite to his words the Scot’s voice was still not deep but soft just with a harsh edge to it. As Hamish leans forward bending slightly over grown locks of feel over his shoulder only helping create contrast with his pale flesh that almost appeared to be snow white only splattered with freckles giving a youthful look to the harsh man. “Aff tae keep lookin? Waant me tae strip sae ye kin git yer lookin thro' wi'?” The Scot showed how his life was here in the underground and just how humans appealed to him. All were lustful bastards in his eyes, not one worth his time or being locked away as he had been.

template made by MISSO for use only by DEE

[Deleted]

"You see, I'm not a man I am the king of illusion At heart, may I be forgiven, I am the king, the king of fools"

Francis didn't know what he was actually expecting, but it hadn't quite been the furious tongue lashing he had just received. The words were harsh, like a scourge – it stung bitterly. It shouldn't have, as he should be used to it by now after all his years of experience; and yet, it still hurt as if he'd been struck. Perhaps it was because the man had seemed to be so tired, so broken, so lifeless. It had been as if the cold had drained all the warmth and energy from his physical body, and it was sad. Thoughts of Freedom Fighter meetings emerged in his mind, and Francis wanted everything to be over and for equality to just be here already.

“Cannae ye read mah papers? Name is Hamish Alasdair Stuart.”

He started, a small flinch and he felt as if he had nearly lost his balance – despite having hardly moved. Francis watched the now snarling man, and he was all too aware of how unwelcome he was. But it was too be expected of his position; a human, seemingly sympathetic. Francis wouldn't want it either, if the roles were reversed. His Scottish accent was grating, a terrible sort of sound, and it was, in truth, just a bit terrifying. The attorney general didn't allow such emotion to betray his calm demeanor, inhaling a fair amount of cold air to soothe his surprise.

Hands reached through the bars. Before he knew it, Francis was being subjected to having frozen hands grip his chin and wretch it closer towards the filthy cell. His pupils dilated, widening in disbelief as he was forced to stare into Hamish's green irises. Incredible, was his first thought. They were ablaze; on fire with corrupted fury, purified hate, and alight with soul. It was a green Francis had never seen before in his life, something beautiful he would have seared into his mind forever.

“Ye'r 'ere tae pick a freish pet? Sorry keep lookin doll face amurnay a hing,” His skin was so pale. An unhealthy pale, something delicate despite Hamish's brash and wild accusations. “Aff tae keep lookin? Waant me tae strip sae ye kin git yer lookin thro' wi'?”

”No,” Francis answered, without a moment to spare, and gently took Hamish's wrist to remove his hand. It was far too cold to even consider the thought of removing what little warmth that one possessed; but that wasn't the point. Francis didn't care for such a show. The sexual acts of the Underground, to be perfectly blunt, disgusted him. These “mutants” were not sex slaves – they were humans, and if they didn't give their consent, it was sexual assault. Nothing else. Love was something that could not be forced on people like this; the despicable and abhorred crimes that were committed in the Underground were so twisted and tangled into an ugly ball of despair, Francis could hardly bear to look at it. ”I have no interest in witnessing such a display. Forgive me for bothering you, Monsieur Stuart.”

electric has gangnam style