The Ravenblack Grimoire

Okay, so this is the week between one of the city’s best known functions, the Slave Auction. Twice a year, vampires gather from all over the city to get something to drink, engage in some social activity, and compete with other bidders for the services of their slave of choice.

What is the appeal of the slave auction? Well, to the buyer, there could be a variety of things. Having someone perform a specific task, quenching the need to be in control (even if it’s only for one week), or to purchase their own friend or loved one in order to get them entered into the lottery for the large pot that one lucky slave gets at the end of the auction. To the slave, money is usually given as the top answer with a few mentioning their submissive tendencies quickly under their breath, or the thrill of not knowing how much money they’d go for.

If a self respecting vampire(ss) chooses to join the auction with the hopes of cleaning windows all week in exchange for a few extra coins, fine. Here is what I don’t understand. I attended one of these auctions. During this auction, I saw more bare breasts than I had seen in my entire unlife.

Now, don’t get me wrong, bare breasts are a glorious thing, but there’s something about some dirty hall with a bunch of drunk and leering vampires calling out numbers and the bare breasts positioned on top of an auction block that just takes the mystique out of them. These vampiresses were taking off their clothes in order to increase their take. About half of them were more than willing to whore themselves to the highest bidder as well and had mentioned such on their information cards.

What. The. Hell. To each his own, I guess, but if I EVER showed up on an auction block in this city, someone is carrying my ass up there all ashed out in an urn. Where is the self respect? Whoring yourself for money? I don’t understand it. Yeah, yeah, mutually consenting adults, whatever. The hooker on the street corner and the john in the beat up old pick up truck are mutually consenting adults, too. The only difference here is that the hookers have callouses on their feet.

So in conclusion, I beg you…please think of the breasts. They are much better sacred and not flopped all out for everyone to see. Thank you in advance from the bottom of my cold, dead heart.

So, until next time, I tell the truth so you don’t have to…not like you planned on it, anyway.

~S~