Secret Secrets: Chapter 6

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Milarose laid there in silence, his teeth clenched and his eyes locked on what lay beneath the grate. He’d heard Vyno, but he had also seen a tunnel under the grate where water flowed from one end to the other. Where did it lead? Could he pull this grate away? 

He lifted his gaze with a start, realizing that if he paid too much attention to it he might draw the gaze of suspicious onlookers. If that was to be his means of escape, he would need to be certain it would work the first time. 

When he looked up, he saw a group of seven humans walking toward them. They all had dark hair and pale skin, their flat, pink faces seeming emotionless to Milarose, who had never seen one up close. He didn’t want them to touch him, but he hardly had the energy to do more than tense up when they approached him. Two of them produced blades that they used to cut away the rest of his bandages, another two brought tall ladders from elsewhere and set one in front of him and one behind. They hoisted thick hoses up over their shoulders and flipped a nozzle that sent water spraying over his body. 

The streams of water struck him and he flinched at their force, gritting his teeth against a scream as the one in front passed over the wounds on his chest and shoulder. The human moved on quickly from that area, Milarose couldn’t have said whether it was out of efficiency or sympathy. 

He felt tugging on his whiskers and tried to jerk them away, but the humans’ small hands held fast and drew his head forward for fear of them harming his whiskers. His lips drew back in a snarl, but one of the humans that was closest to his face reached out and smacked him hard right on his nose. His head jerked to the side, then his head was jerked forward by the humans until his chin rested against the grate. He panted as his eyes watered, and he squeezed them shut when he felt a cold liquid spray over him, splashing against his cheek. It smelled strongly of cleaning agents, not pleasant at all like the scented soaps he’d bathed with before. 

The humans chattered and laughed amongst themselves, speaking a language Milarose could not understand, and it made him feel even more isolated and exposed. Their hands were rough and unforgiving as they scrubbed along his body, focusing on his mane and tail. The one that stood beside his head rubbed the soap away from his eye and spoke gently to him, even though he didn’t understand. Were humans capable of empathy even when they worked for this deplorable industry?

One of the humans shouted and the ones not holding his whiskers moved away so the hoses could spray him down once more. Milarose saw the water running down his arms toward the grate, white suds and red blood mixing together to wash down into the depths toward the tunnel that may hold his salvation. 

He was led away from the grate once the soap had been entirely washed away, his whiskers now bound with an elastic band that was so tight it felt like it might cut them off any moment. One of the humans led him alongside Lamashtu across the warehouse once more toward a station that had several light fixtures situated over a short, raised, rectangular platform. There were chains and straps attached to the platform and a chain with a hook that hung on either end of the platform. 

Mijhael stood at a podium set off to the side, writing away in his ledger and consulting a list that he held in his opposite hand. 

“Muzzle him and bring him to the dias,” Mijhael said without looking up from his list. 

“I don’t need a muzzle,” Milarose said. “If I try to leave, a muzzle will not stop me.” 

“All the more reason for one then,” Mijhael replied, finally closing his ledger and looking up from the podium. “Go on then, I’ll not begin my assessment until he is restrained.” 

Milarose grit his teeth as he was led by his whiskers like a dog on a leash, swallowing his disgust with the situation as he limped onto the raised section of the floor. It was almost too small for him to stand comfortably, and he gripped the edge with his fingers as the human who held his whiskers pulled his head down low. Two more humans came forward to fit the metal cage muzzle over his mouth and nose, pinning his whiskers tightly to his cheeks and locking into place behind his ears with a loop around his horn so he couldn’t shake it off if he got it loose. 

Shackles were locked into place around his wrists and ankles, though he took great exception to having his injured legs touched, hissing and growling low in his chest. The humans also bent his tail back under himself and secured it to his right foreleg. 

Only once he was secured did Mijhael approach with a clipboard in one hand and a pen tucked between the teeth in his mouth. As the mutated drakiri neared him, Milarose tensed and leaned as far away as he could, shifting his weight to his right foreleg only as the pain in his left arm grew too great to tolerate. 

“You are afraid of me,” Mijhael said as he peered closely at Milarose, though he did not meet his gaze. The other drakiri scrutinized his face and his brow specifically, even going so far as to reach out and trace the edge of the darkest stripe that traveled down his brow and along his neck with the end of his pen. 

“Can’t imagine what there is to be afraid of,” Milarose muttered. Talking with that muzzle on infuriated him and he lowered his head to try to readjust where it sat on his face. The moment he touched the metal cage, a human descended from one of the ladders with one of the hook chains that attached to a mechanism high up on the ceiling. Before he could even react the human hooked the end of the muzzle, stuck his fingers in his mouth and blew a sharp whistle. 

The chain retracted suddenly, snapping Milarose’s head up so high that he had to straighten up and stand on the tips of his fingers to keep pressure off his neck. He drew several shallow breaths before he let out a low, keening sound of pain. He twisted against the chain, leaning his entire weight against it and only managing to rub painful welts into the skin behind his ears and make his head hurt from the pressure against his horn. 

“I imagine it has to do with my appearance,” Mijhael said, continuing the conversation as if he hadn’t just witnessed such a sharp rebuke. “I would not be surprised if I am the first of my kind you’ve seen. There were more, but we are few in number now. I would be less afraid of my appearance and more afraid of what these people will do to you. I have seen them forget to use the spell that knocks drakiri unconscious before they are harvested, so you are paralyzed but you can still feel every cut of the knife, every scale peeling away.” 

Tears blinded Milarose as the chain pulled his head further until he had to stand on only his hind legs, his forelegs stretched in front of him due to the shackles that attached him to the platform. 

Mijhael moved around to the front of Milarose and marked each scale with a felt-tipped marker, counting under his breath. He wrote on his clipboard once more, pausing as he looked at the bleeding wounds on the dracus’s chest and shoulder. He tutted in disappointment and shook his head as he moved along, pen moving across his clipboard with practiced ease. 

“Fleabitten has not been a desired marking in the high elf courts for a month now,” Mijhael said thoughtfully as he ran his hand down Milarose’s left flank, avoiding the deepest of the scratches from his fights. “They’ve somehow gotten it into their air-filled heads that it looks like dirt. Most won’t touch them. But the sapphire color might be enough to persuade them. If not, we may find a buyer among dwarven aristocrats.” 

Milarose’s hind legs trembled from the effort of keeping himself standing and he finally gasped, “You’re going to break my fucking neck if you don’t let me down!” 

Mijhael moved farther behind the dracus, studying his hindquarters and even going so far as to reach between his hind legs under his tail and feel for his slit. 

“Was that not something you asked for in your cell?” the drakiri asked, nonchalant as he pressed hard beneath Milarose’s pubic scales to push his cock out. He bent down to look for a moment, then released the pressure and made a note on his clipboard. “You told us we should just kill you. Have you decided you would rather live?” 

Milarose pulled on the chains that held his wrists in place, crying out as the pressure on his horn doubled. It felt like the front of his skull was about to be ripped away from his head. 

“Screaming has done you wonders thus far, try again perhaps it will work,” Mijhael said as he lifted off the ground with the ease of a practiced magic-user and held his clipboard up to Milarose’s horn, comparing the length of both. “If you ask nicely I will tell them to release you, they do nothing without my say so.” 

The tears spilled over and trailed down Milarose’s cheeks, a belly-deep wail of agony torn from his throat as his injured hind leg buckled and the other followed suit. 

“Please!” he sobbed. 

Mijhael gestured with a wave of his hand like he was shooing a fly away and the human whistled sharply again, a lower tone than the first. The chain released and Milarose collapsed onto the platform, crying and gasping. 

“I would recommend not touching your muzzle again,” Mijhael suggested, giving the dracus a pat on the flank before he stepped away, flying to his raised platform once more. “Let him rest, then send him to the skinners. Esperanza, the kainu in block F is ready for revaluation for his second skinning. And please send me a report about the children that were brought in with him. If they are in anything shy of excellent condition I will burn this building to the ground with everyone inside of it.” 

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