A Chance

This is for @whumpawoman Angstpril, prompts Exhaustion and Left Behind. Set in Ira’s story, several months after Gemma and Mark, and a few weeks before she will meet Dami for the first time.

Cw BBU, pet whump, very briefly referenced forced prostitution, vaguely referenced noncon and the whole messed up WRU/BBU system. But this, well - this is a rescue.

At 34, Poppy DeMarco felt too old for her job. There were days that went alright, sure, but lately, the bad days prevailed and it grew harder and harder to unwind at night.

Today was a particularly bad day.

The case was routine, pimping and prostitution, some college kid wanting to make a quick buck by producing porn of his romantic WRU pet and selling her out to his most loyal followers.

And as always with these business majors, he’d been ridiculously amateurish. Felt invincible, even now, when two of her colleagues guided him into a police car. Thankfully, the car door slamming shut cut off his babble about his dad’s connections, about how they’d all get disciplinary hearings, and everything he’d done was legal. Spoilt asshole.

“Gotta loooove frat boys,” her colleague Rosa mumbled next to her. “Can’t believe I’ve dated one back in the day.”

“Mmh.” Poppy only half listened, focus set on the white-haired girl kneeling next to the huge bed, dressed in nothing but a white leather collar and some… thing of translucent white lace. Position 2. All pliant. She hadn’t moved during the entire operation. “Show me your wrist, dear?”

She obeyed without hesitation, even though her dark eyes were wide with fear, and her shoulders trembled, dry leaves in the wind. “Good girl,” Poppy said, sickening routine using WRU’s conditioning herself, and she could almost see the relief in the girl’s posture. Gingerly, she held the girl’s wrist in her own hand, careful to avoid the bruises coiled around her arms, while she scanned her code.

“805609,” the girl mumbled. “Designation romantic.”

“Right,” Poppy confirmed and nodded at Rosa. “Legally registered to a Adam Summers, the man himself. Third owner already.”

“She’s so young.” Rosa’s voice was flat.

Poppy sighed. “They all are, aren’t they?”

“Still.” Rosa shuddered. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t. Only makes our job harder.” Poppy let go off the girl’s hand, but she didn’t draw back. Instead, she inched closer, looking up at her from under long lashes. “I’ll be good,” she said, voice melodic and the tiniest bit hoarse, perfectly seductive, yet still seeming natural. “Please, don’t send me back. Please… let me be good.” She reached for Poppy’s forearm, graciously, and her whole body followed the movement.

Poppy had tried to learn that sort of elegance in her dancing class, back when she thought she could actually have a private life. She’d failed.

What did they do to you to make you like this?

No. Poppy was going to listen to her own advice. Don’t think about it.

“It’s okay, darling,” she said, gingerly brushing off the girl’s arm. It was scarred, under the bruises. The girl was scarred everywhere. Cuts, mostly. Burn marks. Something that looked like lashes, across her flat stomach and on her thighs. Poppy didn’t even want to think about how her back looked like. She just felt tired. “We’ll take care of you.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue. They wouldn’t. They’d follow protocol, and protocol said to bring her back to WRU, who’d make arrangements with the owner; either keep her there until he’d come back from prison at horrendous day rates, or refurbish and resell.

The kid faced at least a year in jail. Probably more, given the scale of his productions. He’d never pay the upkeep for a pet. He’d resell. She’d be a discount. She’d never look like the virgin every prospective wanted.

“What’s your name?” Poppy didn’t even know why she asked, she hated herself as soon as the words were out. It wasn’t even like she could have a name of her own. It had been taken from her, like everything had.

“Ira.” She looked up again, a shy smile on her face. “Ira Winters.”

Of course, she remembered. Summers had advertised with the name he’d given her. He’d made the girl a porn star, after all. Poppy’s stomach turned.

Rosa’s thoughts seemed to go in the same direction. “Have you seen these… clips he made of her?”

“What I had to.”

“Mh. Me too.”

They both looked at the half naked girl in silence. It took some minutes, before Poppy spoke to Rosa again.

“People disappear in the system, often enough, you know.”

“Mh. Pets, especially,” Rosa confirmed.

“Nobody bats an eye. And Frat Boy won’t miss her, where he’s going.”

The girl - Ira - glanced at them, gaze shifting from one to the other. Careful. Knowing. “He is…,” she whispered. “He is my owner, but I… uhm. I won’t miss him either.”

“She’s fucking bright,” Rosa mumbled under her breath. “You think she’d stand a chance?”

Poppy swallowed, pushed her hands deep into her pockets. Did she? Pets were made to be dependent on their owners, Romantics most of them. Being third hand helped, though, it seemed. The last pets she’d worked with would’ve begged to go to prison alongside their owners. This one, Ira, was a lot further, it seemed. She might have been over that bond - but her past was so clearly imprinted on her skin, she’d always carry it with her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But she sure as hell deserves one.”