Freebird? (Flower & Kokino Hu & Sherlockian)

[ChampionOfTheMorningStar]

Name


Neal, Smith (smith because he does not know his last name.


Slave Name


DL876-221


Age


26


Gender


male


Bio & Personality


Neal was sold into the slavery system when he was two years old, he does not know why and all that he remembers from his life before is his mother's face and the name 'Neal'. As a slave he has no official name so he keeps it a secret, it is his only secret. His previous masters (of which he has had two) both called him by different names. As a slave he has been mistreated in the past in many different ways by many different people. Being a slave is all that he knows, he unlike other slaves does not wish to be free. He feels abandoned by his parents and by his previous masters he feels that he wouldn't know what to do with freedom since all he knows how to be is a slave. No one would want him free. He is like all slaves very quiet and submissive. Though he hates having to be this way, though he knows from experience that anything else could get him killed, beaten, or worse. Neal is a very high class trained slave in every way that a slave could possibly be trained. Though for a slave he is getting old, most people prefer young slaves and he is almost 30. Neal keeps himself in tip top physical condition, or tries to, since as a slave he does not necessarily always get food and water, especially as an UN-bought slave in transit. His previous owners did not ever give him proper medical care, so he is used to taking care of himself, he's been doing that for years and he's tired, he would never admit it but he wants something or someone to take care of him, he wants to not have to constantly be on alert. He knows and has accepted that it will never happen. He knows that all he's got is himself, no mater how much he wishes it was different.


(I will devlop him over the course of the rp, as well if there seems to be a lack of personality)


Appearance (feel free to use anime or real you may even describe just be detailed)

(@Kokino Hu @Sherlockian also you two need to figure out whose parents bought him as a wedding gift)

 

[Sherlockian]

WIP (just collaboration history and still need an appearance)

Name:


Isabelle Chandler(formerly Isabelle Verona)


Age:


26


Gender:


Female


Personality:


Isabelle is a gentle young woman, with a heart of gold. Ever since she was a child she has taken pity on others and tried to help whoever she can, whenever she can. For her race, abilities, disabilities and so on are not how one should judge another. She judges based upon a person’s attitude and personality. If they have a horrible personality then she is unlikely to want to be around them. On the whole she is kind and a pleasure to have in one’s company.


She strives for what is right and has a strong sense of morals, which is why she did not want to own a slave. If there is something she believes strongly about then she can be quite stubborn about the matter. She is fiercely loyal to those that she loves and has a bit of a protective streak that strikes anger in her sometimes. She would do anything and everything to protect her husband.


Isabelle loves humour. She enjoys a good joke and has a very twinkly, sweet laugh. She loves when people make her smile. However, there is innocence about her humour and sometimes she struggles to see the joke or becomes easily offended by what others say. She is also exceptionally naïve, which makes her vulnerable and easy to manipulate. She is definitely a follower and not a leader.


Job: Isabelle is a Primary School teacher for the local school. She has a class of fifteen pupils, who she loves as her own.


Bio:


Isabelle was born to a high class family, one that owned many slaves. As a child, Isabelle could see no difference between the slaves' children (because there were a view in her town) and children like her. She bore no ill-will to any of the children and often could be found playing with them. This disgusted her parents, who attempted to keep her as far from these "ruffians" as possible. Isabelle listened to her parent's rules, even if she didn't agree with them.


Throughout Isabelle's life there was a very prominent figure that shaped her character and her future. _____(just awaiting a name) was her best friend and both their sets of parents encouraged their relationship, hoping they would one day be married. Isabelle loved everything about ______ from day one. She doted upon him and would have followed him to the end of the world if he'd let her.


As they grew into teenagers, Isabelle began to worry that he would find someone else to love. Many of the girls in their town were attracted to him and likewise she had other suitors. When one of them began to get serious for Isabelle it looked as though she would have to leave behind her dream of being with her best friend. But it appeared jealousy was a shock to his system, because shortly afterwards he began courting her. He would appear at her window at night and take her for moonlit walks, or take her for a surprise picnic deep in the forest. Isabelle was delirious with happiness.


So it was no surprise when he asked for her hand in marriage, with her father's permission. Isabelle gladly accepted and the pair were married at a fairly young age. Isabelle has been happy ever since and though they've been trying for a child they have been unfortunate so far. She would love a baby, but she is quite content with just herself and her husband. For now at least...


Appearance:

​

 

[Kokino Hu]

Name:


Alan Chandler


Age:


28


Gender:


Male


Personality:


He's modest and calm by nature, but Alan has always been somewhat rebellious. Basically, he's the kind of person who will gently go and do something he's been strictly told not to do-- purely because he was told not to do it. The only person's wishes he'll really, truly, completely comply to (usually without fail) are those of his wife. Alan knows how to work persuasion in his favor, and although he does thrive under stressful situation, he can also create unnecessary brand new problems. Which is mostly thanks to his sharp tongue.


He isn't a very energetic person; he tends to enjoy simply relaxing in bed with a book as opposed to actually going to work. Sometimes, on his days off, he just rests all day. Other times, he won't bother returning home until it's ten o'clock at night or later, but naturally that doesn't mean he likes it. Since he has a special sort of reverence for people who work hard, he'll almost always leave surprisingly big tips for waiters, waitresses, and other professions of the like.


Bio:


I'll keep this short and sweet, partly because it's what I usually do for bios and partly because I'd like to finish this soon so we can start. Due to financial issues, Alan's parents divorced when he was five years old. When he was seven, his wealthy mother--rather than his construction worker father--got full custody of him, and a few months later, he got landed with a step-dad. He didn't mind the new arrangement too much; he did keep in touch with his biological father by way of e-Mail.


So, not long after that ordeal, he met and (best) befriended a girl named Isabelle Verona. It didn't take a lot of time for Alan to develop a small crush, which just kinda festered throughout their friendship. For the rest, I guess you can go see Isabelle's bio. Anything that's not included in there (i.e. details and other events not listed here or in Isabelle's) I'll probably reveal as our plot progresses.


Appearance:

Other:


He's a doctor at Casey's Hospital, and he doesn't really support slavery. //this is a horrible character sheet, zoo wee mama

​

 

[ChampionOfTheMorningStar]

Neal, had only been in a Carrying container twice in his life as reflected by his sales history. The process never changed no matter how much he wished it would. The first time he had been in a carrying container he had panicked, he had never been in such a small space before. The second time he had managed to stay calm, and this time he had tried to sleep. He hadn't he was far too nervous. New masters were a lottery and you never new, so far he was lucky. His luck might be about to run out.


His first Master had been a rich old man, in need of a young man to entertain him. Neal, though the man had named him Billy-Boy, had compiled, he was 19 at the time of his first sale. His second Master, had bee a heiress and he had been a Christmas present, she had called him Matt. He had been in his prime for her at 21, she kept him for 4 years, then traded him up for a newer model. He had spent a year being bounced from sale-floor to sale-floor before a old wealthy looking couple had stopped at his display in DC. He was pulled from the floor immediately and prepared for transfer. He had been hoping for younger owners, but slaves didn't get to hope. He had been stupid.


He shifted in his packaging as he felt it begin to move. Slaves were packed for transfer, the same when in which they were showed on a sale-floor. Naked. First, Neal had been told to lie on a planked square of wood. He was then muzzled and chained to the wood, arms crossed across his chest and knees tucked around him. A tube was then inserted into the muzzle and the box built up around him. A hood was pulled over his head and attached to his sales-collar with the tube coming out of the top. A gruff voice would then tell him to take a deep breath and hold it, as a liquid that hardened immediately into foam was poured in up to his neck. Then he felt the stamp as his number was printed on the side.


DL876-221

 

[Sherlockian]

Isabelle blinked awake slowly in the morning light which streamed through an open window in their bedroom. Stretching her slender body, she uncurled herself from the fetal position she had been resting in besides her husband. Raising her head ever so slightly, she rested it on his broad chest, listening to his breath rise and fall. She was always an early riser and he seemed to enjoy to sleep in. Besides, he did work late sometimes, being a doctor and all. Smiling to herself, she watched him for a few more moment before pushing the sheets up and sliding silently out of the bed. She snatched up her dressing gown and slipped in over her nightgown. Before she departed the room she pressed a tiny kiss onto his lips and headed for the kitchen.


Humming gently to herself, she set about making breakfast. Slipping on some shoes, she wandered into the garden in the pale morning light and down to where the chickens were making a racket in their coop. Once she had gathered a significant amount of eggs laid fresh that morn, she returned to the kitchen and breakfast began. Isabelle enjoyed cooking and it was one of the reasons they didn't possess a slave. Yet. Sighing, she shook her head. Her mother kept threatening to pair the newly-weds one. But they refused point blank. They didn't need one.


Breakfast prepared, she popped it all on a tray, set some orange juice and tea down and headed back into the bedroom. Setting it on the side, she gently moved to rouse her husband. "Good morning sleepy." She whispered planting another kiss on his cheek.

 

[Kokino Hu]

Alan groaned wearily, reluctantly ignoring the itch that told him to simply continue sleeping. What time was it? It couldn't be that late already, he thought, but then...Alan's internal alarm clock had never exactly been the cream of the crop. "Is it morning already?" he mumbled, slapping his hand across his mouth to shield his wife from one of those not-so-beloved nasty experiences starring morning breath. Halitosis. Whatever the new hip term was nowadays. Eyes sliding open, he propped himself up on his elbows with all the grace of a drunken moose; last night, between a leukemia patient and the extremely protective parents of a CF patient, had been a tiresome time. Last night had also resulted in him not coming home at a happily early-ish time, so today? Today he felt pretty tired.


At least he had the enticing smell of a steaming hot meal to enjoy, however. Isabelle was perfect in that way, because she just understood things. For instance, she understood that after a hard night's work, a breakfast in bed--which was what he assumed he would get, judging by the tray set off to the side--was absolutely welcome. And of course she'd fixed it for him. Oftentimes Alan found himself wondering, utterly dumbfounded, how in the world he had managed to marry such a flawless woman, and it seemed he never could quite procure a reasonable answer. Yet they were indeed married, for which he was wholly grateful for. Wouldn't change a thing.


He scooted a bit farther up the bed, now fully sitting up. "Is that for me, hon?" he asked with a gesture to the tray, tone a mix of groggy and playful.

 

[ChampionOfTheMorningStar]

Neal had been in the truck for hours. He was tired and cold disoriented, and hungry. He hadn't had anything to eat since being packed up in DC, and that had been a little mug of protein. He braced himself as he felt the truck begin to turn. He had forgotten that while they were packed tight in their boxes, they weren't secured down to the back of the van. He didn't want to be any more bruised for his new owners. He felt the van stop and sighed, he was thankful that the motion sickness he had been born with had been trained out of him. The truck stopped and he felt the delivery man step out of the truck heavily. Another delivery.


The man went to the door, and rapped at it mercilessly. He had already made seven deliveries today, and he had to make two more after this one. Ten, ten in a day. And he was the only free person in the truck. He looked at the clipboard. He caught the words Wedding present, Chandler, and slave DL876-221. He sighed. Rich parents? Great. He hated the stupid spoiled ones. He rapped at the door impatiently. skimming the clip board he caught another word No-sale clause. Huh, interesting.


When the door finally opened he didn't look from the paperwork at who-ever answered. "I have a delivery for Mr. and Mrs. Chandler, I need you both to sign here for Slave number DL876-221. Happy wedding." he read the last part from the 'special instructions' section of his delivery sheet. It wasn't bad, clearly the in-laws had some respect. He had been made to sing a whole birthday song once to a snotty young boy. He looked up at the door.


(Totally don't care if anyone wants to make the Delivery guy o anything BTW)

 

[Sherlockian]

"Is it morning already?"


Isabelle could not help but smile at her husband's groggy voice. With his mussed up hair and droopy eyes she couldn't help but think he looked adorable twisted in the sheets. He had a hard laugh as a doctor and she aimed to provide every comfort possible for me when he was at home. It seemed only fair. Running a hand over her rough face, she nodded gently, before popping up and retrieving the tray. Carefully she placed it in front of her husband with a flourish.


"Is that for me hon?"





Laughing, Isabelle shook her head with a roll of her eyes. "And exactly who else would it be for?" She teased, settling on the edge of the bed. Just as she'd tucked her legs underneath her there was a loud rap at the door. Frowning, she slowly got up, wondering who it could be at this time of the morn. "I'll get it honey, you stay and enjoy your breakfast." Kissing him lightly on the forehead again, she padded barefoot towards the door and down the stairs two at a time. She could see the outline of a man at the door. Tightening her robe around her she opened the door cautiously.


"I have a delivery for Mr. and Mrs. Chandler, I need you both to sign here for Slave number DL876-221. Happy wedding."


Isabelle blinked at the man, staring at him blankly. He looked up from his paperwork, a frustrated, impatient look on his face. It took her a few seconds to gage what he was saying to her.


"I don't understand...We haven't ordered any...We don't require a slave. Alan." She turned to call back into the house. Her hands gripped the door, knuckles shining white against the skin. The last thing in the world she wanted was a slave. It was a disgusting practice that they followed. "Take it back, we don't want it. I mean him...or her." She made a move to slam the door in his face, but the driver put his foot to stop it from closing.


"It says here I can't do that miss."

 

[Kokino Hu]

Alan frowned at the interruption, sliding his gaze over to Isabelle with a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth. Who could possibly be knocking on their door at this ungodly hour? At least, he thought it was an ungodly hour. Heaven knew it felt like one. "I'll get it honey, you stay here and enjoy your breakfast," Isabelle said as she slid slowly off the bed, looking just as troubled as Alan imagined he did. He knew it wasn't the cops or anything, he did, but...no one actually liked people knocking on one's door, unanticipated, in the early morning. Sighing a little, he stuffed his bite of egg into his mouth, nonchalantly leaning into the soft kiss his wife pressed to his forehead.


And not a minute later, he heard that very same wife calling him downstairs. Making a small sound of confusion--a tiny bit of it also being confusion--he set his breakfast tray aside and planted his feet on the ground. After a loose-fitting T-shirt was pulled over his head, left to hang laxly just below the waistband of his pajama pants, Alan exited the bedroom at a brisk pace; his descent down the stairs took a handful of seconds at most, and soon he stood beside Isabelle at the door. With a delivery man. "What's the problem?" he asked immediately, directing the question more to Isabelle than at their visitor. It was nearly protocol to consult her about any online purchases, and the chances of sensible Isabelle ordering anything that would cause her to be so tense? Unlikely. He knew there was a problem.

 

[ChampionOfTheMorningStar]

(FINALLY HOME)


The delivery man looked from man to wife and sighed deeply. "There is a no-sale clause. I have to deliver. This slave number...." He turned to check his paper work again "DL876-221, is yours. Male." he added after a second, he turned to the man "Happy wedding." He added for the husband. "You have to sign. I have to deliver, fast. I have ten deliveries to make today and yours is just one. Take out your anger on DL876-221, not me." he shrugged and held out the paperwork and turned. "Sign those I'll get the dolly." He headed to the truck, already irritated that this took so long.


Neal's stomach was turning. Normally he would close his eyes, but he had a hood so it wasn't really needed. He did anyways. He remembered getting motion sick when he was a boy going through package training. They weren't even moving but he still felt a bit sick. He gulped knowing it would only get stuck in his muzzle and soil him for his new master. Masters. But this was taking so long. He didn't even know if it would be his sale. That thought came across just as he felt his box pushed roughly on to the dolly. His world tilted and he felt the jerky movement of the dolly. He took as deep breaths as his packaging would allow. In-and-out, he'd be out soon. Neal relaxed. Too much. He wasn't thinking that his new masters would have porch steps!


CLUNK


CLANK


CLACK


CLUNK


Neal didn't think he was that bruised before. He was rather bruised now. He heard a muffled voice through the wooden box and hood.


"Are we all set...?"

 

[Sherlockian]

Isaballe shot her husband a horrified look, shaking her head as she extended her hand for the paperwork. Neither of them had ever wanted a slave, they had agreed that they would not buy one. And now they were having one shoved into their lives. This sounded a lot like the work of her mother interfering. She had been appalled when the newly-weds had stated that they didn't want a slave. Sighing, she impatiently brushed strands of her hair from her eyes and scrawled a loopy signature onto the bottom of the paperwork. Silently she passed it over to her husband and watched as the delivery driver fetched their new arrival.


She felt sick to the bottom of her stomach. Her hands were sweating and she wiped them on the bottom of her dressing gown. As the man brougth the large wooden crate and began tugging it up the porch steps, she started forwards in alarm.


"Be careful! Just leave him at the bottom." She scolded as though he were a naughty child. Snatching the paperwork from her husband, she slammed it into the guy's chest and turned him away from their house. She knew it was irrational to be angry at him, but he took his disgraceful job so he should expect it. "We'll take it from here. Thank you very much." She added sarcastically. Turning back to her husband and the box, she looked at it with a pained look in her eyes. Inside that wooden crate was another human being. One that would now be forced to do their biding, whether he liked it or not.

 

[Kokino Hu]

By the time Alan had finally realized what was really going on, the delivery man was off to get their new slave. It was all he could do to refrain from groaning. Swallowing thickly, he took the paperwork from his wife and signed; his hands were mostly capable of staying steady under pressure (he was a doctor, after all), but although his signature was smooth and scrawled with firm fingers, it did not look right on the paper. On the paper it looked horribly, horribly wrong, and according to Alan, this was because it didn't even belong on that paper. Nothing belonged on that paper. No signatures, no contracts, no anything else. It should have been a blank paper. And he should not have signed. In the next moment the paperwork found itself ripped from his hands, and in the moment after that, the clipboard it was pressed to had been slapped unceremoniously across the delivery man's chest by none other than Isabelle.


Alan couldn't very much say he felt remorseful about it, since he really wasn't. If he did have the stuff to feel that way, he doubted he would be able to, as even the scuffle between the delivery man and his wife went altogether unnoticed-- although, from a medical standpoint, he winced at the way the trolly jostled the package from being pushed up the porch steps. To say the least, that didn't look very pleasant.

 

[ChampionOfTheMorningStar]

There was a silence. A painful one. Neal heard a engine start in the distance and he breathed very slowly, through his little tube. This was it, all he could do now was wait until his new owners thought it was time to un-pack him. He hoped they would do it soon, the foam did not provide very much insulation from the early morning cold. He had heard angry voices which was not a particularly good sign. The old couple whom he thought to have purchased him seemed nice but he knew that people were different on the sales-floor than they were in their own home.


He tried not to remember the horror stories they used in training of slaves displeasing their owners within the first few moments after delivery. Or even on the sales floor. He also didn't want to think about the horror stories that other slaves had told him of slaves being taken from their packaging wrong, those were the worst. A seasoned old slave had told him that he used to have a brother, that they had been lucky to be sold together. Until the owner had taken his brother out of his packaging. Neal swallowed he didn't want to think about it.


Neal kept his whole body tense and still. He didn't like this part the waiting as they opened the box, examined him, and then what? Neal took a quick index of his body and listened hard. Trying to gauge what the new owners would think. To some owners he would be considered a 'fat' slave since he wasn't a complete skeleton like some slaves. To others they wouldn't like the fact that you could see most of his bones and ribs, some masters didn't like that, some did, he had no way of knowing.

 

[Sherlockian]

Taking a deep breath, Isabelle glanced at Alan for help, but he seemed to be in shock. However, they needed to remove the slave from the box. Isabelle had heard horror stories about slaves if they were left in there too long, or even removed wrongly. One of her “friends” had delightedly told her that their slave had arrived nearly starved of oxygen. Safe to say, Isabelle no longer regarded her as a friend after that story.


After a moments silence, she darted back up the porch steps and into the house. Upon passing her husband, she patted him gently on the arm and retreated into the house to retrieve the crowbar they kept in the shed. It took her mere seconds to locate it and return to the box. She also snatched up a blanket. Again, she touched Alan briefly in a comforting manner. But she had work to do and consoling her husband could wait until later. There was a man trapped in this box.


Without hesitation, she drove the crow bar into a hole and began to jimmying the panels off. She was careful not to touch the breathing equipment. After a few tedious moments the front panel came off and fell with a loud crash to the ground. Foam poured from inside around Isabelle’s feet and she stepped back before peering inside. Among the packaging stood a completely naked man, breathing through the tube. The first thing she noticed was that he was handsome-looking. He had a wave of brown hair and beautiful eyes. The second thing she noticed was that he looked beaten up. Uttering a soft gasp of unhappiness, she tore at the packaging, unhooked the breathing tube and gently, but firmly pulled the slave from his box. Looping an arm around his waist, she forced his arm over her shoulders and supported him out.


“Alan,” She said softly, as she helped the man to the bench on the porch. She gave her husband a pained look. He needed to care for this man who was black and blue with bruises from transit. Grabbing the blanket, she unfolded it and draped it around their slave’s shoulders. If only the neighbours could see what was going on, they’d be appalled. Thankfully, it was early and none of them seemed to have risen. Plus, Isabelle would not have cared about what they thought.


Sitting beside the slave, she looked at him with gentle eyes. “What’s your name sweetheart?”