( it's probably the most normal thing there: the train. seifer doesn't give it a second thought when he gets shoved in with the group crowding onto it, and for nearly half the ride, he doesn't sit. maybe that's the pride talking, especially when he watches some sub wander on and kneel right next to their dom. he scoffs but says little, eyes focused on the outside as the city passes almost too quickly to really get an idea of what's what. and really, he's perfectly fine where he is until some smart ass decides to open their mouth about "submissives needing to learn their place" because he doesn't want to start a fight – not when he still has no idea about any of this yet – but the itch is there, right under his skin like an old friend.

so, he turns and punches the guy right in the face.

...which immediately instigates others to pounce on him and everyone else trying to break them up.

the taste of blood is sharp in his mouth, but seifer doesn't stop until he's literally kicked off the train at the next stop, somewhere in a place called the down. he spits and rubs at his busted lip, glaring hard until the entire length of the train has gone, and when he turns, he notices that he has a mini audience. )

What are you looking at? ( it's stern but not exactly mean, touching his tongue to his lip and rolling his eyes before shoving past whoever's standing there to leave. )

( he doesn't remember getting up on the small stage, and he certainly doesn't remember being stripped down to practically nothing either. it's not like he has anything to hide – whatever scars he has would have been worn proudly anyway – but his thoughts are a bit hazy, unsteady. seifer squints out at the crowd, turning his head towards the distorted, loud voice speaking over him about a high quality virility potion that will keep the buyer aroused for hours longer than the other leading product. it's a bunch shit, honestly, but his mouth feels too heavy to argue the point. in fact, his limbs feel heavy too. a slight turn of his head earns fingers grasping his chin as they offer him as a trial piece, and it's not like he can struggle against it when he's too high to see straight.

how the hell had that happened?

regardless of that, he finds himself in a room with someone else moments after the end of the speech, seated on the edge of a makeshift bed that feels more like a cot and legs spread. his breathing is a little heavy, but that's only because he struggles to get the words out, glaring at whoever's with him. the look, however, is softened by whatever they'd drugged him with, and his words are a bit slurred. )

Touch me, and I'm ripping it off. ( no one can say he isn't trying. )

( pm with questions. open to pretty much anything else, so whatever strikes your fancy! willing to write starters if need be. )