"What's wrong, big guy? You shouldn't be too greedy with this offer. Oleg is already doing a tremendous amount with this offer in letting you pick your slaves. I'm rather surprised myself, not only for the offer but with how fast he seemed to take to you, he doesn't normally take this well to strangers, especially towards human's after—" Sweet Bell began, her voice a delicate chime, only for Oleg's big, meaty hand to gently close around her, lightly encasing her.
"No speaking of that," Oleg rumbled, his voice a low, warning growl. "If I wanted him to know about that I'd mention it myself. And as for why I took so well to him, well, didn't you see his soul? I thought I felt it and knew not to trust my eyes, but the mirror proved he's just as big-boned and refined as I am inside! Clearly some kind of tragedy or curse fell upon him that caused him to become this ugly, muscled way! But a soul doesn't lie, you know that as well as I do! His soul is clearly a pure fatty, like I became after realizing the truth of the world! Fatties are good people and we shall always stand together regardless of our species!" Oleg declared, releasing Sweet Bell and letting out a booming laugh of pride, which earned him a very annoyed look from the fairy.
John, despite the strange declaration, found himself smiling. "I couldn't have said it better myself, my big and round friend," he said, letting out a self-deprecating sigh. "And yeah, this slimming was a result of healing. It apparently used my body's fat as fuel to patch me up and fix me, but with some luck, in a few weeks or maybe months I should be back to my cuddly form, or even a little more so. It's actually uncomfortable being like this if I'm being entirely honest" He patted his stomach, frowning in annoyance at its current firmness. The sensation of his abs, while objectively impressive, felt alien and uncomfortable. He longed for the familiar cushioning that once defined his shape.
Sweet Bell threw her hands up in exasperation. "Oh god, there's now another one! Seriously, Oleg, how is it even when a person is thin, handsome and has some proper muscles, you're still able to either convert them to be a fatty or know they were one in secret? Is it some kind of secret skill you have?" she couldn't help but complain, making it clear this wasn't the first time something like this had happened.
Oleg merely chuckled. "Hey, we're discriminated against no matter the reality, so we need to stand together regardless of race! As for you, my little human friend, do you by chance feel a bit better now? After the jokes and knowing that even if you feel alone you aren't? that you can in fact still trust maybe?" Oleg asked, his tone suddenly softer, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips.
John paused, thinking for a moment. Oddly, he did feel better. The crushing weight that had pressed down on him since Alice's loss had subtly lessened. He was still sore, a deep ache in his heart and upset at having lost her, but it wasn't clouding his mind now, nor did it exist as the only thing he could think of. It was as if a thick fog had begun to dissipate, allowing him to breathe a little easier. The sharp edges of grief had been blunted and he felt a quiet, almost unsettling sense of acceptance settling in, as if he had skipped through the usual stages of denial and anger straight to peace, he couldn't help but look at them again with hints of suspicion before shaking his head.
Oleg patted his back again sending a gentle tremor through him this time to get his attention and showing him a small, intricately carved piece of wood, no bigger than John's thumb, depicting various figures, mostly women, etched with delicate skill. It confused John at first, the smooth, dark wood feeling cool against his palm, before Oleg explained.
"It was influencing you, trying to erode your mentality, twisting your thoughts with sorrow and despair. Now that it's out and you had someone touch your core soul once more, you've come to terms and become at peace. Never forget those you have lost. Find some way to always remember them, cherish their memory but don't let them become shackles that dictate your actions or tie you down. I've been through it many times, as have many others. You aren't alone, my little human friend." Oleg's voice was surprisingly soft, laced with an understanding that stunned Sweet Bell, who looked on with wide eyes. It was a rare glimpse into Oleg's personal depths, a vulnerability he seldom displayed.
"I don't know how it happened or who but it was clearly deliberate and you need to take care to look out for such curses in the future. Now, lets go pay for your new soldiers and get you those slaves," Oleg said, his tone shifting back to its usual booming joviality. "And don't think, I didn't notice your reaction, the ones sold by the shop I am taking to come in four categories: either criminals who got caught and this being their chosen punishment as a form of atonement; soldiers having lost a war and choosing this as their way out rather than serving those they lost to; people with extreme debt having to sell themselves willingly with the coin earned being the owed amount to prevent those left behind from having to suffer or pay for it, choosing to work it off for their new master; or the final kind, those who voluntarily became slaves for personal reasons. Only the first two types are actually forced to some degree, but even then, it's still there choice." He explained, easing John's worries a bit, though a knot of unease still tightened in John's stomach. The concept of "voluntary" slavery felt rather strange to him.
Soon after, they reached the counter. The sales girl, a young blonde Elf with striking silver eyes who wore a gold and silver battle dress that accentuated her lithe frame. She seemed extremely familiar to John, a that familiar nagging sense of recognition he couldn't quite place like a shadow of a memory just out of reach. She gave John a strange look, as if she knew him rather well and was confused by his current actions yet still performed her job with efficient grace, ringing up the purchases, casting looks towards John but not saying anything, instead, much to there their surprise and Oleg's obvious joy, she offered them a significant discount on there purchase.
Collecting the ornate statues and intricate clockworks, now secured and stored away they led by Oleg through a bustling market alley to a small, almost hidden store. Its unassuming facade belied the richness within. A heavy, dark wooden door, slightly ajar, revealed a warm, inviting glow. Inside, an extremely fat human greeted them, his sheer size making even Oleg seem thin in comparison. He wore a crisp white vest stretched taut over his colossal frame and a black jacket that seemed to be custom-tailored yet still struggled to contain him. A twirled mustache graced his upper lip and a polished top hat sat perched neatly on his head. He greeted them warmly, his eyes twinkling as he saw Oleg, clearly having had dealings with him before.
After a brief explanation that they where there for there new friend John to pick up a few people along with the reasons for it he turned to assess John, pulling a monocle and seemingly examining him closely with a judging gaze before nodding and speaking with a wide smile.
"Good day, my toned gentleman," he boomed, extending a surprisingly delicate hand. "My name is Peter, welcome to my humble store. It's but a small branch though so you won't find any high-class slaves here but I can guarantee each and every single one of them are well-treated and of outstanding quality among there class. You are actually quite lucky as we recently got a whole new batch in just a few days ago from one of our main stores. Follow me and pick what you would like. And as it's your first time and referred to by a trusted buyer of our company I'll be adding a 15% discount on the final price." Peter's smile was wide and infectious. Oleg and Sweet Bell informed him that they would be waiting there in the front of the store, as choosing your first set is always a personal thing before reminding him to use the tags to make sure they would be taken along when he left the mall.
"Now allow me to explain what happens. Each of our slaves, after being chosen will get a special crest placed upon, the location being of there own choice and you will get the master crest. It will keep them from trying to harm you and from running away. At any time, you are free to, well, free them if you so choose, they would be your property after leaving here and thus you would be allowed to free them if you wanted. But, well they would be your property in a sense the mark would keep them from being able to harm you, it doesn't mean you can harm them or be unfair towards them. I shall give you the contract terms and rules once you have chosen so that you fully understand it comes with a lot of responsibilities, I know Oleg though and he wouldn't bring you here if he felt you were a bad person or would abuse or harm them intentionally." Peter said with a reassuring smile, having led John into a wide area filled with rows of individual cells.
Unlike the grim, utilitarian cells one might expect in a prison, these seemed to be decorated differently, almost like small, personalized apartments. Each was fully furnished and impeccably clean, boasting its own unique style and accessories seemingly to match the occupant's tastes. John noticed a small television, a computer and even a phone and a mini-fridge in most of them, along with a private, enclosed bathroom. Even the air was surprisingly fresh, devoid of any stale odors he had expected a slave market to have.
"These are the debt and self-choice slaves," Peter explained, gesturing with a flourish. "The debt slaves you can freely choose from, but the self-choice would be the ones who would need to choose you after a small meeting and it would be up to them if they wish to go with you or not, they are the ones who had freely chosen this course for their own personal reasons, we check each and every one to ensure they aren't running from debts or trouble that would create problems for their owner. The next area I will guide you through are the war slaves. After I have shown you them, we will go to my office where I will give you the files on the various slaves for you to browse and choose from. Before you ask why I bothered bringing you down here only for your choice to be done in an office, it's because I wanted you to see that each and every one of them are well looked after and to see they aren't forced, I could tell you where reluctant to own the second I laid eyes on you and felt this might help ease those worries. As for the criminal slaves, well, you don't seem the type to be interested in them, no offense my good man it's just those tend to be a handful and the ones we get are often used as fodder, if it was one of our main stores id have had no issues showing you them but our variety here are… less than pleasant to deal with." Peter said with a smile, while John listened intently, his gaze sweeping over the various people in the cells.
Exactly as Peter had said, each and every one of them seemed fine, if a little bored or disinterested. Some seemed to wave at him or try to speak, though no words could be heard through what he figured was sound-dampening barriers. Others just gave him a passing glance before returning to whatever they were doing before Peter had brought him down. John found himself studying their faces, trying to discern their stories, their reasons for being here and most importantly, if what he had been told was true. He saw resignation in some eyes, a spark of hope in others and a quiet dignity in many more who seemed to still have their pride.
The war slaves' cells were a bit barer, reflecting a more Spartan existence, but still immaculately maintained with anything they could need. While not as fancy or decorated like the previous cells, they each had a large and comfortable bed, a bookshelf filled with worn texts, a sturdy desk and their own private bathrooms. The walls seemed to have window-sized holes, allowing them to talk with one another and foster a sense of camaraderie or perhaps shared burden, a way to stave off boredom perhaps.
Walking through this section, John observed them more closely. They all seemed well-toned, flexible or athletic with a sharpness to their eyes that spoke of discipline and training. Some held a controlled bloodlust that simmering intensity beneath the surface, while others seemed like swords waiting to be drawn. He felt a different kind of respect for these individuals, understanding the paths that might have led them here and that even if some hadn't chosen their lot in life all those, he saw here still held pride in it, clearly having no regrets.
Eventually, they reached Peter's opulent, yet surprisingly cozy office. Plush rugs covered the floor and rich mahogany paneled the walls, imparting a sense of quiet authority. Peter slipped John a contract, informing him that after signing in agreement, he could then look through the comprehensive files and pick his chosen slaves.
A quick read-through made the rules abundantly clear. He would be fully responsible for his chosen slaves, mandated to provide for their well-being and was not permitted to abuse them or demand anything unreasonable from them such as harming themselves, sexual acts or breaking any moral codes, they may have. In exchange, they were obligated to help and aid him to the best of their abilities. Specifically, in regards to the war slaves, they were obligated to fight for him and listen to his orders. He was also able to use his crest to cause pain towards them but only if they disobeyed reasonable orders, tried to flee or refused to listen and make things difficult intentionally in ways that would lead to their master being harmed. As a crucial fail-safe, each time this function was activated, the main branch of Peter's store would automatically take note and look into the cause through the marks, rescuing the slaves if needed and, in extreme cases, imprisoning the master should they be found to be abusing their privileges. It was a system designed to protect all parties involved, a complex web of checks and balances that, while still unsettling in its core concept seemed to offer a surprising degree of fairness to all parties involved. John felt a flicker of reassurance and a sense that this was not a place of wanton cruelty as he expected but rather one governed by strict, albeit unusual laws and rules, almost like a company with the slaves becoming his employees and him the boss. He took a deep breath, the weight of the decision settling upon him but finding it now easier than he first thought it would be.