A quiet moan echoed through the gently rocking cabin of the stately galleon. A now lifeless corpse went limp, still suspended by a pair of thin, bloody wrists that were tied close together by a rough rope fastened to the ceiling. Cyril leaned back against the heavy oaken table, surveying the remains.

It had been a boy, no older then about seventeen years old by the looks of him. The body now swung gently back and forth with the lull of the ocean against the floating prison. The boy's skin had been carved open and carefully pulled away inches at a time, muscle tissue and inner organs now spilled out from underneath the rib cage, and blood completely drenched the once creamy white trousers the boy had been wearing. Both legs were broken at the knees and ankles, joints now hanging and creaking into positions opposite of what would ever be humanly possible. The poor boy's shirtless chest was carved open to bone and ligament and his shoulder blades poked through the thin muscle tissue visible on his back.

Cyril hadn't been satisfied by this boy, and demanded another slave brought to him immediately.

The crew grew anxious at their captain's sudden violence, but knew better than to mention anything of it, should they be the one that ends up bound before the captain. Below decks the first mate was combing through the shelves of chained slaves, hoping to find a slave that was perhaps ill, close to death as it was. But Cyril was known for never having anything less than the best of the slave stock. All of his slaves were in decent health physically, though mentally without a doubt broken to pieces.

"Gabriel!" A voice called down. "Hurry up!"

The first mate turned back, grimacing and cursing under his breath. He hated this. A slight cough echoed from over to his left, and he saw a young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, convulse and begin to gag.


Acting faster than he would allow himself to think, the troubled first mate pulled his keys off of his belt and knelt over, grabbing the coughing girl by the wrist. She yelped at the contact, but followed as all the slaves did.

Gabriel avoided eye contact with the girl and marched her up towards the main deck.

The young girl squinted as she was thrust out into the sunlight. The nearby crew began to laugh and holler, a few of them approaching and poking the girl in the sides and legs playfully. Gabriel drew his cutlass and swatted them away, batting their hands with the flat of his blade.

"As you were." He said simply.

The few gathered crew members moaned their disapproval, but returned to their stations.

Gabriel sheathed his blade and led the coughing girl up towards the captain's quarters. He knocked quietly on the half-open door before poking his head in. Averting his eyes from the carnage, he shoved the girl in before him, pushing her to her knees in front of the table.

"Captain." He said in a rehearsed, monotone voice.

"Why such a delay? Have you forgotten how to walk?"

Cyril showed no interest in the shivering girl curled up on the floor, obviously trying to restrain her coughing in front of the slaver captain. He sat quiet in the chair on the other side of the table, eyeing his first mate curiously.

"Apologies," Gabriel habitually said. "It won't happen again."

"Is that not what you said last time?"

Gabriel swallowed and shuffled from his right foot to his left.

"If there is some problem, speak up."

The first mate shook his head. Cyril was obviously not convinced and groaned quietly.

"Get out then! Make yourself useful!"

Gabriel nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Gabriel," Cyril's voice halted the first mate, and he turned to look at the Captain.

"Never assume that simply because you are my brother, you merit any special treatment from me. I benefit nothing from having you here; it is my favor to you. You are in no position to abuse this privilege. Do you understand what I say to you?"

Gabriel faced his brother and nodded. The slaver eyed him a few moments longer before sending him away with a flick of his head.

Gabriel closed the door behind him and leaned his back against it, sighing heavily before pushing himself off and descending to the lower decks to attend to his duties.

Cyril slumped back down in his chair, listening to the short, uneasy breaths of the girl crumpled on the floor before him. Her attempts to keep her coughs and gags restricted had done nothing but aggravate her condition. The slaver stood in annoyance and strode around to the other side of the table, kicking the girl over so that she coughed miserably and gagged.

"Something ails you." He stated simply. "A fever perhaps?"

He reached down and grabbed the girl by the throat, hoisting her up and laying her on the table. He grabbed her chin and forced her mouth open, surveying her sore, swollen throat and yellowed teeth. He scratched off the flakes of caked semen that lined her mouth and chuckled to himself. He released her chin and slipped his hand through her hair, combing his fingers through its knotted length. Cyril studied her a moment longer before pulling her off the table and setting her on her feet. The girl instinctively sunk to her knees, as was the usual custom for slaves aboard the Vehement, but Cyril interrupted her action.

"No, stand up."

The girl glanced up in confusion, but did as she was told. Cyril opened a black leather bound book and turned a few pages.

"What is your name, girl?"

The girl stood silent, her arms clasped about her shivering body.

"I asked you your name." The captain repeated.

"Brynn." The girl whispered out.

Cyril turned a few more pages in the book before opening a small ink well and dipping a quill into it. He wrote out the girl's name and the date.

"How old are you Brynn?"

The girl's eyes flicked back and forth between the body hung from the ceiling and the floor.

"Fifteen years old."

Cyril nodded and added her age to the entry. He looked up at her a moment before writing down her appearance. Short, stocky, scar next to left eye, brown hair, hazel eyes. He closed the book and put away his ink and quill before standing and approaching the girl. She stood silent, staring at the ground as he came closer to her. She felt something hard press against the small of her back, and yelped as Cyril dug a needle thin dagger into her skin. He clapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back towards him, forcing the blade deeper into her skin. He suddenly ripped it out and flung the girl forward, sending her crashing to the floor. Her light green shirt grew a dark red blossom and blood began to flow down her back and sides. Cyril knelt over the girl, using the knife to cut away her shirt. He rolled her over and pulled the ruined garment off before pressing a cold hand on her chest.

"Now hold still, Brynn."

Author' Note: Okay - so I need help with a rating. Is T fine here or should it go up to M? I really don't know...

Either way thanks for reading :)