The Description
of the Dandelion Chain
The Story
of the Dandelion Chain
_______________
Description:
Sally is 5'11", taller than most of the
people she hangs around with. She looks like she isn't a day over 16, but
somehow seems much older. Her hair is white and has been bleached so many
times that it has a consistency more like straw. It looks like it's been
cut with a knife and certainly hasn't had a comb or brush near it in years.
Her face is slender and quite pretty, other than a scar that crosses diagonally across one cheek, from right above her left ear, almost to the corner of her mouth. Between that and the ragged mess of hair, no one ever seems to look past to the strangely slanted green eyes and the very definitely pointed ears, and she likes it that way. It stops them from asking questions that she has no intention of answering. She's skinny almost to the point of emaciation, and has very little figure to speak of.
Clothing:
She wears a pair of oversized pants, belted
with a length of rope, and a jacket with very different camo prints. Both
are definitely the worse for wear and were before she rescued them from
the trash can. With them, she wears a cropped tank top showing a xylophone
of ribs. The top was originally black but is more grey now. Like her, her
clothing is in bad need of a wash.
Background:
Sally's background before the age of seven
is unknown. She was found wandering the streets, apparently alone, already
scarred. She couldn't tell anyone what her name was or where she'd come
from. She spent the next eight years in foster care, bouncing from one
home to another, some good, most bad. After being kicked out of the last
home for beating up a foster brother who had been trying to rape her, she
ran away, preferring the streets. Since then, she's made her way as a squeegee
kid and a thief, refusing to even think of selling her body. In fact, even
the suggestion of sex sends her into a rage.
Unfortunately, she tried to steal from the wrong person, so here she is, waiting for her first owner.
They better watch out.
Environment:
Brick walls and pavement mimic an alleyway,
but without the garbage. A pile of rags and old blankets make up her bed.
A commode is cleverly hidden inside a fake dumpster, to avoid offending
customers with the sight or smell of bodily wastes. And Sally waits, eyes
on the door, planning what she's going to do to anyone stupid enough to
try and touch her. Her eyes seem to glow in the dim light of the fake alley
and small green sparks like miniature lightning flash around tightly clenched
fists.
Sally is ready.
____________________
Before I tell you anything else, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Karene Saezera--you may recognize my family name if you are in the Bluffington district. I am the sole heir to the Saezera inheritance, a large part of which consisted of family debts and an unscrupulous reputation handed so graciously from my father as being a woman of loose morals. My idiot of a mother did nothing to alleviate this, and in fact contributed to its spread at the fancy soirees and formals which we attended so long ago. The two of them are dead now, having met their ends during one rainy night when they simply decided to take a drive. Far be it from me to hold them back from acting on such stupidity; I have no sympathy for them whatsoever, and wish them a peaceful rest in the other realm.
With the two of them so suddenly removed from my life, the burdens and responsibilities of maintaining the Saezera name fell upon my shoulders. It was not a new thing for me, as they had been relying on my talents for years before their accident; the only difference now was that I could do what I wished, with impunity. Such power was liberating for me, and I seeked to make the best of it.
In a few months I had rebuilt what was left of the Saezera empire--not much, considering the fact that it had been crumbling for quite some time. Financial matters were stabilized at long last, and working relations were built up with the neighbors once more. Many of them sent their condolences and constantly nagged me with such trivial matters. Did I think I could handle myself? Was I looking for a new boyfriend to support me? Am I emotionally stable? The answer was always moot, as I really could have cared less about what other people thought. Their desires would mean nothing to me once I recreated the Saezera's glory.
Upon a long-delayed inspection of the wine cellar, I discovered what looked to be a small treasure box lounging in one of the many dark corners of the room. Curious, I slowly picked it up, noting the thick layer of dust with some mild distaste. Once upstairs, I cleaned the filthy thing and opened it, to discover what looked like a ticket laying on top of a small slip of paper. The ticket itself bore no recognizable emblazons, save for the logo which placed me as "Owner of ______". The name blank was left empty. On the slip of paper was an address in a city perhaps an hour away by jet.
I could make no guesses as to what this meant, aside from the fact that it seemed to be rather important. Such as it was, I chartered a flight for the city on the slip the next day and flew out. A brief drive from the airfield later, I found myself standing in front of a palatial mansion much like my own, reaching perhaps two or three stories high and spanning a large piece of scenic property.
'This place looks like an expensive harlot house,' I thought, thinking back to the way the treasure box looked--encrusted with jewels around its gold trim, dusted over with disuse--and what purpose my father (for who else could it have been?) had in purchasing such a ticket. Surely he did not find my mother unattractive; the mere thought was an outrage.
I stepped up on the patio and noted with sour amusement as a thick black man loomed up from his post a few feet away. He looked me over with a predator's gaze before speaking in a rumbling baritone. "Ticket, please."
"Ticket? You must mean this," I said, holding out the thing I had found in the treasure box. The sight of it seemed to satisfy him, and he sank back towards his spot on the patio--but not before gazing one more time at me with a decidedly odd expression.
Ignoring the crude security guard, I made my way inside. The interior was lush and lined with thick carpeting from wall to wall, with exquisite chandeliers glittering in fragments of rainbow overhead and beautiful tapestries hung from the walls. A man in a suit approached me, smiling at first--then quirking an eyebrow as he looked me over in much the same fashion the security guard had.
I could feel my irritation growing, but I brushed it aside and flashed the ticket at the man. He nodded in acknowledgement and motioned me towards a desk behind him, where a thick book was currently open with a pen sitting next to it. The man moved behind the desk and ran his finger down the page, searching for something while leaving me to wait for him. The nerve of these men was truly incredulous.
Finally, he looked up, smiling apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Miss... Heather Saezera?" he began.
"Karene Saezera," I corrected. "Heather was my mother."
"Very well, then. The slaves have all been taken at this point; the ticket you're holding was a carte blanche for ownership, but when it went unclaimed for so long, we had no choice but to eschew that privilege to be fair to all the customers."
"... slave?" I demanded. "What manner of place is this?"
The man looked at me blankly. "I was under the impression that if you knew about this place and came here, that you would know," he said, sounding honestly surprised. "Did your mother not tell you?"
"She never told me anything," I said. "Now... what precisely do you mean when you say slave?"
He shrugged, a gesture that infuriated me. "There's not much else to it, Miss Saezera... your mother must have wanted to--"
"My mother would never have done such a thing," I retorted. She would not have, I knew; she was a gossiper, not a woman of loose morals. Even so, I could not grasp the idea that she had interest in members of her own gender. "You must have mistaken the purchaser for my father."
"Oh, I assure you we did not," he said. "Hell, I remember the call; I took it myself. She sounded very stern, much like you do, and definitely female."
I did not know what to say to that.
"If you don't wish to participate..." he continued.
"No." This was my ticket, now; it was my inheritance, and I had a right to use it as I see fit. At that moment, I saw fit to find out exactly what was going on. I did not believe a word this man said, but the bedrock of faith was slightly shaken--either way, one of my parents had committed an act of adultery. Fitting, so very fitting. It was just like them to be unfaithful to each other, the wretches.
"I wish to participate," I finished. "... about the 'slave'. You said they were all taken?"