Black as your soul.

There was something about the man's eyes. He couldn't look into them, as he had done the previous night, before he collapsed. An uncomfortable, alien feeling coursed through him with so much as a glance. They were not menacing, nor kind, as the man intended them to be. These eyes sent a gaze that gently pierced his skin, burning through to his soul. Eyes that could manipulate and control. An icy thrill ran through him at the thought.

There was a pregnant pause. The soft hand returned to Tic's chin and lifted it gently; a finger trailed softly along the brim of his jaw. The orange eyes shown out of the corner of Tic's own, tempting him to give them a glance. The man spoke again, his voice as smooth as the gloved hand that touched him uncomfortably. "You wouldn't want to upset me, would you?" he cocked his head slightly. "Tell me your name."

Tic's eyes betrayed him as they shifted to meet with the orange pair. He replied softly, his voice weak from hunger and thirst; and the words came out breathlessly, as though extracted from him. "Tic," he said.

"Tic?" the man repeated, lofting a fine eyebrow. "And what of a surname?" The hand drew back slowly to the man's chest and curled into a subtle fist.

"Ideo," Tic responded hastily, "Tic Synkrat Ideo." The orange eyes shifted with judgment, and Tic managed to pull away from the gaze, diverting his eyes back to the floor. Restless thoughts began to crawl about him, biting him sharply... There, he envisioned himself. His hands and legs were bound, restrained; he was standing on a platform, displayed for the crowds of judging eyes, who cried out his value in gold and silver; all his life destined to be sold to the highest bidder.