As Martin had said at their last meeting, their first meeting, a letter addressed to Andrew was with the Mail of the Mansion not wholly two days after. A bone-white envelope of heavy paper. The kind that costs more than most people are willing to pay for things you write on. Handmade, the edges uneven. It looked a bit like an invitation to a wedding or a ball. The paper contained held nothing of the sort. Only an even heavier paper. On it was written in red ink, written with a steel feather from a jar of ink. The hand was precise and orderly. Almost mechanical. No flourishes, adornments, no wrong lines or pauses, only letters. Only perfection. An address, a time and a comment. In blood-red. 'Dress sharp.' He had given Andrew two days to heal. And for the promises to take hold of him.

An address in one of the worst parts of the city. And going by the apartment number listed (2a) it was not even a whole house. An apartment. In a place where the crime-rate was soring so high, it drew up the cities average. Considerably. A neighborhood the cities Sheriff had dreams about. Bad dreams. A neighborhood that gleamed blood-red on those Internet sites where you could find out whether your neighborhood was a good one. And with this one they were quite right. It was a heaven of Gang crime, Murders, M-Dealers and petty thieves. In short: It was not the place where you expected a stone-cold hired assassin to reside. Too much visibility. Not in an apartment building. Too communal. Not on the second floor. Too mundane. Not with a woman repeatedly screaming obscenities from the apartment overhead.* But this was where Martin lived. Not happily. But it was only a place to live.

The door of the building was actual steel. No wood covering. No prettiness anywhere. Just like the rest of the outside of the building. And just like the rest it was covered in graffito. Some were nice enough to look at. Most had been a gangs or anothers. Those were not nice to look at. The dim inside (the singular bulb hanging from overhead could not hope to illuminate anything well in the stairwell) looked decidedly similar to the outside. The smells inside were those of tobacco smoke and foreign spices. Mixed with the sweet smell of illicit substances form somewhere above.

It was early in the morning, the lights of the city dim as the suns. Most people would still be asleep. (Maybe not the woman overhead, but most others) Martin had reserved a whole day of his time for what was to come. Not that time was an issue for him, but it was for most others. It was a gesture of respect for Andrew. And a measure of his importance. He waited behind his own apartments door, had even replaced the old numbering on it so Andrew could actually find him. Waited for his promised servant to arrive. This would be a useful day. It would be productive. Martin was actually quite happy about this. His morals were not. They had been retired to an even darker corner of his mind then before. They had actually dared to object to his treatment of the boy. Objected! Now they were stored firmly behind a wall of ice. Until they learned their place. Proper place. With a slight bit of distaste for the disorderly Martin noted that the brown specks on his other, the bathrooms, door had not come off well. There still was a splattered painting on it from that day-he-did-not-recall. Considering his headache the morning after he really did not ant to recall it. He was slightly excited in a professional manner. There had been no hand-wringing and evil laughter. None! And he had already planned a few things he would do.

He would need to find out things. About his Minion. Well... Attendant might be a better word. Yes, he would go with attendant.


* She and her boyfriend had a rather lively way of discussing spousal problems.

The note had given him a time and place. It had also said to dress sharp. So he had. A pinstripe suit that fit him nearly flawlessly and a matching hat. He didn't need the hat, he'd simply felt like it. DocProf had not been happy with the shape Andrew had showed up in. He'd been less happy when he'd seen the two new promise bands and had seen what had caused the wounds. He'd tried to get Andrew to go talk to someone about it. Andrew had refused. Not just because of the promise, though that had gained steady ground in the days betwixt then and now. No, he was just not ready to face someone else with what had happened to him. That night he'd broken down in his room. Quietly, silently, in the manner of a person that did not want others to know of their pain.

He'd been altogether quiet in his duties around the mansion since then. Perhaps his friends had noticed and perhaps not. If they had they had not the courage to ask him the cause and he had not the heart to tell them. He couldn't spare any heart at the moment. Half of his was taken up with Martin and the other half was warring against this. He'd found himself falling into the trap of coming up with excuses and defenses for what Martin had done to him. Each time he'd had to remind himself that there was no excuse for what Martin had done. That didn't make it any easier to deal with. Andrew was conflicted in nearly every aspect of his being and nothing seemed to help.

And so onward. In the quiet of the morning when most of the Mansion residents were still sleeping Andrew had donned his pinstriped suit and hat and had gone out to meet Martin at the address provided. The part of the city the address was in was dismal. If it were any later in the day Andrew was sure he would have had to fight a few gang members just to ensure his ability to walk through the area without issue. Thankfully Martin had chosen a quiet time to meet so that that was not an issue. Was Andrew grateful to Martin? Not particularly. But it made things much easier so he couldn't begrudge the man for that. He had plenty of other reasons to try and hate the man but not for that.

The building in which they were supposed to meet didn't seem all that different from its neighbors. Andrew entered without spending much time staring at it. The sooner this was done the sooner he could go home again. The less time he spent near Martin the easier it would be for him to fight off this promise and try to live as normally as possible. It wouldn't be a cakewalk as they might say. Not when half of him wanted nothing more than to be near the man at all times so that he could be there if ever Martin needed something. Such sentiments sickened Andrew but thanks to those promises, and here his face contorted into a strange mixture of a dreamy smile and a wince in memory of how those promises had come to pass, he had no choice. He stood at the door to 2a and knocked, waited for Martin to answer and the new trial to begin.

The door was opened immediately upon the knocking sound. At least the three locks were opened one after another and the door was opened slowly, revealing Martin standing in it. The room itself lacked glamor. And this was a friendly assessment. There was a couch that obviously doubled as a bed, sheets lying on one of the armrests. There were boxes of brown carton stacked in a corner, obviously doubling as cupboards and storage. There was only a single other door leading from the room. And that one was stained with brown splatter. The windows looked old and in need of repair.

Martin stood out in this environment. Sharply. He had donned a closely fitting suit that was decidedly on the modern side. That was the very close fitting side. His deeply red dress shirt had its first two buttons undone, showing a bit of very white skin underneath, creating a stark contrast. The shirts was a color somewhat similar to that of the ink on Andrew invitation. His clothing seemed that of a quite well to do person. Dark shoes, probably quite expensive as well, gleamed in the scattered light from a single bulb that illuminated the room from above, argumenting the light coming in through the open windows. Martin proceeded to stand in the doorway, eying Andrew with an assessing glance. A very cold glance. It was as if he had not bothered putting on his mask of humanity this morning. As if he had somehow forgotten it in the bathroom. He did not need to show it around Andrew anyways. In some ways he was honest with his new Attendant. He did not bother covering his third eye either. Three eyes glanced at Andrew for a long minute.

“It will do.” Martin said, as he stepped out of Andrews way, motioning him to come in with one hand. As Andrew stepped in, he closed the door behind him, deliberately shutting the locks. But he did not let Andrew slip past him without touching his hands to Andrews chest, just feeling in passing. Locks in plural. He was not foolish. His voice sounded again, the back still turned to Andrew. “Take your proper place.” There was not a hint of emotion in them. Only the cold cadence he had heard before.

There he was. The man that he hated and loved. Such contradictory emotions provided courtesy of the promise. There was little difference in his face from the cold lack of humanity that Andrew remembered. Beyond Martin was a room. Andrew didn't know if Martin lived there or had simply picked the place as a meeting spot. In either way it suited him, in Andrew's opinion. There wasn't a speck of welcoming comfort about the place. Martin stood out in sharp contrast to this place today. He was very well dressed and unlike their first meeting fit the time period to boot. Andrew's own suit contrasted him somewhat. Where Martin's suit was dark Andrew's was light. Grey and white pinstripe with a plain white shirt underneath.

As much as Andrew was loathe to admit it Martin did look quite fetching in his attire. And while Andrew was assessing the room and Martin, Martin it seemed had been assessing him. His own outfit apparently passed inspection and he was allowed inside. The door was locked behind him as he stepped within the confines of the room and a hand landed on his chest. Andrew shuddered. It was an involuntary motion. His body and mind remembered what that hand had done to him. It remembered the pain and unbearable closeness. And because of the promise, because of the order, it could not decide whether this touch, this reference, should be good or bad. So he shuddered in indecision.

Another command sounded. His proper place? What did Martin mean by that? Andrew didn't quite know. It wasn't as if he'd done this, been a servant (or perhaps slave was a better term), before. However if he asked...well Andrew wasn't sure what Martin would do. His confusion and indecision were writ plain upon his face as Andrew wrestled with the question and the order itself. The situation was intolerable but he'd given up. He'd been weak and given in to Martin's demands. He deserved this in a way and just had to make the best of it. He was weak, no matter how hard he tried he would always be that way. That was the truth Andrew had come to accept. The weak it seemed were fodder for the strong. Martin didn't have muscle but he made up for it in other ways. With an inhumanity that was startling in it's cruelty.

"I...don't know."

It was all he could bring himself to say. Andrew was trying so hard to resist the promises. He'd rather bleed out here on the floor of Martin's apartment than let this arrangement continue forever. He wouldn't win though. The promises were too cunningly worded, too strong for him to break easily. He needed a way around them. That was something he'd have to think about. His eyes braved Martin's for all of a few seconds before dropping back down. He couldn't look at the man for too long. It confused him. Made him angrier and calmer at the same time. A paradox in a suit.

“Very well.” Though Martins voice sounded its usual way, bland and quite untouched, the movement of his body made it nonetheless quite clear that he was disappointed in Andrew on some level. Made it visible not through voice but in the slanting of an eyebrow and a shoulder. A smile followed. A smile that almost held emotion. Amusement. An invitation taken. Maybe something human too, deep inside.

“Proper for you, in this context, would be either kneeling at my feet or you trying to tear my clothes off and ravage me on the couch. Or don't you agree?”

There was no hint of emotion there. No hint whether the second option held any appeal at all for Martin. In truth it did not. Physical contact was something thoroughly alien from him. On that level at least. And with a man nonetheless. On most others, too. He still had to force – well maybe not force, but most certainly exert thoughtful effort – himself into physical interaction of the kind he had just had with Andrew, he would not be the cause of Andrew falling to his Sandeyes. He was too useful to that. And the whole experience of that entirely too unbecoming for him. Still his voice sounded, coolly. “Choose. Now.” The order was snapped at Andrew in a military way that sent most people leaping into action. It was a voice of force.

And it was a thoughtful action now. A whole day it would be. And a whole day of trial at that. Andrew would not leave him with fewer scars. And he would leave him more thoroughly trained.

Andrew watched, listened as Martin made his disappointment known. The voice was cold and detached. The movements said that he should have know whatever Martin was about to say already. Disappointment in himself was barely quashed by reminders of who was standing before him. The statement that followed however rocked Andrew in such a way that his mouth dropped open entirely of it's own accord and with full permission from his brain which was busy trying to process the implications of what Martin had just said, however toneless his voice might have been at the time.

And though he didn't want to, though the idea horrified as much as the memory of that man pressed against him in the alleyway, Andrew imagined the situation that Martin had outlined. He was stalled in indecision. If he had to choose one of the options presented he'd much rather kneel than than attempt such an act with Martin of all people. However the standard third option of simply refusing was wavering at the edge of the realm of possibility. It refused to be a fully realized choice but it wavered there, temptingly, like a hallucination of an oasis in a desert. Martin's voice barked an order and Andrew seized upon his choice.

"No."

He stood up straight and no matter how much it scared him look Martin in the eyes. Andrew would not allow himself to be used in such a way easily. His resolved firmed as he stood there, defiant before Martin. He would not be an easy conquest for this monster. He would not becoming a simpering servant easily.

= = OOC For the mods: Godmodding permission sought and given beforehand for everything before this. For Andrew: I assume I have permission for manhandling you here, too; And for future reference, PM me if you find anything wrong with my posts = =

Martin was quick as a snake. Lithe as one too, flowing through the room with a dancers grace before Andrew had even completed vocalizing his answer. The look on his face had been plain enough to be telling. So Martin flowed behind Andrew in one motion. Flowed, because there seemed to little time he occupied a given space.

His foot found Andrews knees. Kicked them from behind (not too gently either), just as his arms – they were quite thin actually – found their way under Andrews shoulders, settling him to the ground almost caressingly. He stroked his front with his fingers actually, playfully. This was not a motion required by the movement. At all. He did it to gouge Andrews reaction. The third kick was to Andrews kidney and followed without warning. Yes, he knew where people hurt when you poked them. And it was not restrained either, that kick of his. Andrew would feel that. Sharply. For days. There would be bruising there. One of his gloved hands, Martin always seemed to be wearing them, found Andrews hair and tightened in it, rolling into a fist. His speaking voice was still even though. Thoughtful maybe, but it held so little emotion. He was not winded from what he had done either.

“Should you ever wish to contradict me, you will do so in a calm and logical fashion, presenting arguments in your stances favor. And if you think to have reason for contradiction you will speak up.” He would not loose the boys mind, untrained as it might be, for his designs. He would not, however, have him disobedient. It seemed that a reminder was in order. “Now I have chosen an option for you and you are going to pay for your indecision and slow wit.” No saying that he had already paid. This was in future tense for a reason. And his voice gave nothing away. No pleasure, no pain. Just that quiet thoughtfulness that might be heard lurking in the back. He was shaping a tool now. “You may still choose the other option I gave you. You are going to, and this is an order, love both with passion.” Now that should give Andrew dreams... For future reference. Still equally cold his voice spoke again, hand tightening in his hair. “How do you feel about our meeting three days ago? Answer truthfully and completely.”

Yes. Martin would make him live through that. To find out about a few things. The promises for example. Had they gripped Andrew firmly or just mildly? How far could he be pushed? How much had changed about him?

He was fast. Too fast. That same quickness that had so baffled that group at the grocery was here to ensure he couldn't resist. His knee gave and those hands, those wonderful cursed hands, put him on the floor and those fingers stroked him. Andrew shuddered yet again. A quick shiver that ran through the body tellingly, showing that such things affected him much more than he would like. Then there was pain. His kidney and Martin had known exactly where to strike. This did not surprise Andrew in the least. It did mean he'd be feeling that for a while though. A hand grabbed his hair and made a fist and then the voice spoke again.

Andrew was actually thoroughly surprised by Martin's statement. He hadn't thought that he'd care about the integrity of his mind. It wasn't like he was trying to do anything to help it. Yet he wanted Andrew to be able to provide rational discourse. To be able to argue a point effectively. It was not what he'd come to expect and to the young man forced into the position he was it felt almost like respect. However there was more to hear and...he'd just been called dumb? Andrew almost laughed. He didn't but he did want to. Maybe it was just the stress of the situation getting to him but that remark just seemed out of place. And the part of him that was loyal shrank back in hurt.

Martin's next words cut him though. He felt as though he'd been carefully dissected and then left for any to see who cared to look. Love him with a passion. Love this with a passion. It was an order, he had to obey. But if Martin cared to look he'd see just how effective that blow had been. His eyes swam with a dizzying cocktail of emotions but at the forefront at the moment was hurt. After some seconds love began to worm it's way into the conflicted mess of feelings and the hurt receded, just another pain that Martin had forced upon him.

Martin asked how he felt about their meeting. He asked for complete truth. The question posed was a difficult one. The promise had not yet completely dominated him and so he was still free to feel something of what he normally would about it. Andrew took a breath.

"Conflicted. You told me to regard it as the best thing that ever happened to me. But the promise hasn't completely won over yet. I still hate you for it. I'd strike at you if I could bring myself to do it. But I can't because of those promises. I love it and hate it."

The memories struck at him as he spoke. Unbidden but there. The truth of his words was easily seen. As Martin had forgotten his mask of humanity so had Andrew lost his own mask at some point in the exchange. The mask of calm and bravery that he wore to hide just how weak he truly was. It was gone and Martin had seen the truth of him more plainly than even Tasean, Sam, Kealey, or Jorge.

Martins hand was still digging the hair from Andrews skull. It seemed both relentless and unstoppable. But that might just have been an illusion. The defeated and hurt slumping of Andrews shoulders though was something Martin registered with more than a bit of satisfaction. The same went for his shudder that had come and gone as Martins hand touched him.

“You may keep the hate Andrew, but you will direct it at something else.” His mind trailed off for a sort bit as he went beyond time to search for a few answers of his own. “Direct it at humans. That's an order.” Yes, Andrew would hate. He would hate whom Martin told him to hate. He would love whom Martin told him to love. And he would jump when Martin said jump. It was a satisfaction. Finally someone who would be effective.

Martins hand, it finally let go of Andrews hair. His skull would probably in a numb pain by now. But as before, the hand did not leave Andrew alone completely. The glove ruffled through Andrews hair. Like a dogs. Like that of a good dog. Andrew was petted. Soothed maybe.

Martin proceeded to walk from behind him and sit down on the couch, back impeccably straight, one leg over the other. Eyes on Andrew. His hand motioned him to come over. Silently. Watching. “Tell me, how do you think you can be of use to me. Again, the whole truth.” Martins voice was still so cold. So ice cold. His smile was warming now though. Like something melting. It was slowly disappearing.

Andrew felt like string being twisted, turned, and knotted into whatever shape most suited Martin. Clay would have been an acceptable medium as well. In short he felt all control over his own affairs slipping away and being snatched up by Martin. The hand in his hair was a constant somewhat painful reminder of this. He couldn't even stand up to the man physically. He was just too quick. It only reinforced Andrew's notion that he would never be able to be as strong as he desired.

Martin said that he would be allowed to keep his hate, keep it but direct it at something other than Martin. The target he selected was one that Andrew was already ill disposed toward. Martin wanted him to hate humans. This Andrew could and would do, even without Martin's order. It was the only order so far that Andrew had no trouble agreeing with or following. It didn't make up for the rest of the foul commands he'd been given but at least this wasn't one of those.

The hand finally let go. The top of his head hurt now. The hand ruffled his hair. Like one would a child's hair or that of a pet. And Andrew was sickened to realize that he had, in that brief moment, wanted to lean into that touch. Like a pet. Like a dog.

But this was only proper for a truly devoted servant! So cried the promise afflicted portion of his mind.

Devoted? The man had tortured him and would soon have him behaving like a trained dog. He'd even scarred the memory of kissing Tasean with his cruelties. This was the reply of the as yet unaffected thoughts in his head.

Martin crossed the floor and sat on the couch. He beckoned Andrew forward. Andrew felt those eyes on him as he stood, moved the small distance, and sank back to his knees. He was tired of pain and tired of loveless caresses. Maybe if he just did as ordered Martin would leave him alone. A new question was put to him. Andrew thought about it and provided the truest answer he knew.

"I don't know. I'm fairly useless unless you need something baked."

It was the truth as he knew it. What use did he have? All he did was file papers. That took no great skill and was nothing to force a man into servitude over. This was something that actually perplexed him. He had no great skills worth doing this for. He had no sensitive information. He would not ask why Martin had done this. That ran the risk of insulting the man and Andrew didn't want to do that. Actually that was a lie. He'd like nothing better than rip him in twain and subject Martin to everything he'd done to him and more. But that was also a lie. Because he also loved Martin. Had been ordered in essence to do so. With luck maybe all this conflict would drive him mad and he wouldn't have to endure this with full knowledge of what Martin was taking from him anymore.

“Baking? We'll leave the goodies for another day.” Martin really sounded mildly bemused by Andrews statement of confidence. Baking... pffft. His hand went out for Andrews head again, petting it lightly. Beratingly. How you pet a head beratingly you ask? I don't know. It just works. “But you do realize you are a pair of eyes and ears that live and work at the Mansion, right?” Bemusement was drawing back into a corner of Martins mouth now. Back to hiding. “That you are in the direct circle of their leader.” Goodness, Cold Steel was in the habit of trusting everyone he ran across. He had even hired Martin as a gardener once. With nothing so much as the hint that he was a mutant. “That you will know most people there either by having seen them personally or by proxy. All this is quite valuable.” To me. To my employer. To other people. People paid for things like this. For information. And its good because if I know whats going on over there, I'll still have a form of contact. I am not... alone? Shut that thought away. It's distracting. “In addition, I think we should have regular training sessions for you. There are things that you can learn I believe. Once the promise has firm hold on you. When do you think will this be?” And Martin had a very good idea about what those things were going to be, things that he was going to teach. Pet, pet, dear head.

The patting continued. Andrew suspected it was purposeful, meant to belittle him. Knowing that didn't make it any easier to tolerate though. It was only through a desire not to experience anything worse combined with the promises that he remained still. He concentrated on Martin's words instead of his hands.

"You mean for me to spy on them?"

That was the only way he could interpret Martin's mentions of his connections at the Mansion. He certainly didn't like it but after the earlier demonstration he didn't want to say anything against it. Whether Andrew liked it or not Martin was succeeding in molding him into something suitable for his purposes. At least for the moment he was too worn from fighting to fight any longer. That was what Andrew told himself. That as soon as he had rested a bit he'd start resisting again. He'd start ignoring the urges to simply given in and do what Martin wanted again.

"Training sessions?"

Andrew tried desperately to keep any eagerness out of his voice. As much as he did want to get stronger he now knew that wouldn't be possible. Besides, this was Martin. Whatever he had to teach would not be the sort of thing Andrew wanted to learn. Andrew contemplated Martin's question. How long would it take for the promises to take a much firmer hold on him? He wanted desperately to lie. Say it would be later than it would in actuality just to try and buy himself some time to find a way out of this. Again his resignation to his fate and the promises defeated him.

"A couple of weeks at least before the major fight is gone. Perhaps shorter if you speed things along."

Had he just suggested that Martin resume torturing him? Why yes he had. Inwardly Andrew cursed Martin and the promises.

“Of course I mean you to spy.” Martin stated with indifference. General indifference in Drews general direction. His hand now rested on that head. Slightly curling, as if to grab that hair again, fingers digging at the skull.

Martin raised himself from the couch, looking down at Drew.

“We...” he said in a cold tone... “...are going for breakfast now.” For it was early in the morning. And they were both wearing suits. “You will not embarrass me out there, will you?” It was not really a question, the tone indicated that. More of an Order-question. “Out there we will be best friends. Maybe more. Would you... like that?” That last... again just a stab in Andrews general direction. For fun. For training. Hearts could be broken. Would be broken. Tonight.

Martin undid the locks, motioning Andrew to come out with him. And then used a big keyring that could double as a weapon to close them again. He started walking, expensive shoes clicking on the sidewalk. How would Andrew follow?

Andrew stayed quiet while Martin confirmed his suspicions. It was bad enough he was forcing him into this but he had to draw the Mansion, Sam, and probably the X-Men into it by having him spy on them? It was something else that went into the pile of things to be mad at Martin for, enraged really. The pile wasn't very large yet but it was certainly potent. He felt the hand shift from petting to the beginning of another grab before Martin apparently thought better of it and stood.

He was informed that they were going to breakfast. Told with a question that he would behave. Andrew stood just before Martin made the remark about them being best friends outside. Or more. It was a repugnant thought and under other circumstances would have earned Martin at the very least a vehement denial. Now though he just shuddered and a faint blush rose across his cheeks before fading as though it hadn't been there. He followed Martin out of the building, remaining about a step behind him while they were still inside. Once outside though he forced as natural a smile onto his face as possible and walked beside Martin as though he was simply out for a stroll with a friend.

Martin wasn't the only one that could pull off an act if they needed to. Acting was what the latter half of his high school years had been. Acting the part of a teenager while being worried about precisely the situation he was in with Martin. It was a small talent forged from necessity. He remained quiet though, having no wish to talk to Martin unless he absolutely had to. The illusion would work well enough with just the smile and correct posture. Andrew forced his body to relax and seem at ease. By concentrating on maintaining the illusion of friendliness he could avoid thinking about the situation too much.

Oh the child was good, so very trainable. That alone made Martin smile a bit. Taught he would be. Humanity was beating against the ice walls inside of him, frantically trying to break out. He smothered it under more of the same. Control, Planning, Harshness, Indifference, Attention. So many things. Some opposites. Some complimentary. He was a mosaic. Of broken pieces.

They walked in solitude through an awakening part of the city, of only one of the filthiest ones. The first cars were sweeping along the road, stirring up dusty air behind them as if they were followed by Ginni.

A Taxi brought them where Martin wanted to go in silence.

An upscale establishment. A very upscale establishment. There would be salmon. And possibly lobster. For breakfast.

Martin entered without so much as looking back. “Ah Mr Weaver, it is good to see you. Your usual place?” The server was, despite the hour, dressed in a black and white suit combination and seemed quite ready to do whatever the Sirs and Madams coming through his door wished him to do. Friendly smiling and remembering names was one of the things that were free here. They were more or less expected. “Yes, Peter, thank you.” Martins smile and voice were no less friendly. He only carried an air of confidence and humanity now that was quite becoming. He even looked slightly flushed under that white skin of his. So. Very. Human.

Illusions.

The table as in a corner. The menu full of things that were more expensive than Andrew could probably afford. And this was breakfast. Martin uncovered his head. The good bit about these establishments were that politeness carried very, very far if you had the right amount of money in your pocket.