When David had broached the subject of pet ownership again it had nothing to do with the little dogs or furry kittens and a lot to do with the pointing out that Blaine was in need of companionship. Blaine, of course, had argued that he didn’t need that kind of responsibility. That he wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. David hadn’t listened, merely waved his hand and plowed forward. It was both parts horrifying and enlightening.

Human pets were not an enigma or strange or some dark secret that needed to be kept hushed and hidden behind heavy doors and clever marketing. They were an industry, a cornerstone in a society that prided itself on its willingness to indulge in the hedonistic nature of its people. Owning one was just as much a status symbol as it was a statement, one that said to those that cared about such things that you were dependable, trustworthy, and, in a way, selfless and compassionate. Owning a Docile meant that you were willing to give yourself over to public opinion and be held to a higher standard because with ownership came responsibility.

There were separate, strict rules and regulations (laws) an Owner had to adhere to when taking on a Docile. They were now in possession of an intelligence that was much more valuable and profound than could ever be found in the animal kingdom and much more precious. Human life, above all else, was the most valuable prize to hold within your grasp, to rule, to own. And because of this the ownership of a Docile was regulated and monitored closely. There were breeches in the process, of course - there was a black market for everything after all - but, for the most part, the system worked and within produced and provided a service that benefited the people it served. And was quite lucrative.

Dociles were treated far better than the common house pet but were bought and sold almost in mirror. They were generally housed in cells that held simple fixtures - a cot with a thin, but comfortable mattress, a toilet hidden behind a privacy screen, a single panel chifferobe that held small possessions and two changes of clothes, and a desk that was built into the wall just at the side of the cot which doubled as a chair - with a door that was made of chrome and plexiglas. They were cared for by government standard staff that took care of their everyday needs, doctors that ensured they were healthy, and given limited freedom to do as they pleased within the facility they were registered to. It was all very proper. Comfortable.
This was common knowledge that was widely available through media resources. David had provided brochures and pulled up several websites that gave Blaine any and all the information he could possibly want or need about Dociles. He paid close attention to section on care and upkeep. He ignored the requests for signup when he clicked the tabs for ‘available stock’ and pricing guides.

He and David talked well into the night, arguing when Blaine balked again after reading the brochures, discussing the pros and cons of owning a Docile, and a very memorable fifteen minutes where his friend had picked up a cushion from the couch and beat him over the head and shoulders when Blaine joked about going for the ditzy blond instead. The end result was David hugging him tight at the door around eleven that night and pressing the slip of paper that had the address to The Bourgeois -- Blaine had given the name an incredulous look before tucking it into the pocket of the coat that hung by the door then went about his before bed routine.

Just hours previous he had woken up, gotten himself showered and readied, then grabbed his coat and hailed a cab. It took only half an hour to arrive at his destination. He almost chickened out and told the cabbie to take him home but the embarrassment that would have came with refusing to even try had him exiting the cab to stand on the sidewalk just outside the front doors.

He wasted two minutes in indecision before he took a breath, squared his shoulders and walked in.

Where the outside had been plain and completely unassuming, the inside was quite the opposite. As soon as he crossed the threshold Blaine was struck by how decadent the interior was. Warm autumn colors dominated the walls that were complimented by the rich wooden tables surrounded by two or three comfortable looking chairs upholstered in neutral toned fabric. There floors looked like expensive wood panels that reflected the natural light that filtered down from the skylights overhead and the track lighting that ran the length of the room, stopping at a wall that held two doors on either side of a large opening that Blaine could see looked in on what resembled a hotel concierge alcove.

As he approached, a short woman with a severe bun and sharp eyes moved in from the side - he assumed there was a side door that lead to either an office or behind one of the doors on either side of the opening. She was carrying some manila folders that were quickly placed somewhere out of Blaine’s view.

“Welcome to The Bourgeois,” She greeted, voice surprisingly warm. “How may I help you, sir?”

Blaine licked his lips and smiled wide; first impressions were important.

“I am looking to purchase a Docile, ma’am, and a friend of mine recommended your facility with high praise.”

The woman’s expression didn’t change as she took that in but did nod as some form of acknowledgment before her eyes cant down. There was a series of clicking sounds that Blaine identified as keystrokes and he assumed she was checking something on the computer, possibly availability. For half a second he was afraid that he’d made some faux pas; maybe he was supposed to make an appointment and not just show up. But he dismissed that almost immediately because David, surely, would have mentioned that when he passed the address over.

His fears were put to rest when the woman looked up again and smiled at him. That smile seemed to take years off her appearance and make her seem much more approachable. It was amazing.

“Please, step right this way,” She indicated the door to Blaine’s right with a sweep of her hand. Blaine wasted no time in following the direction and made his way to and then through the door. It opened up to larger part of the facility which housed the cells and the rest of the amenities the facility provided for them. He doubted he’d get a tour of those and put them out of his mind as the woman joined him in the open hallway.

“My name is Margaret and I’ll be your host and sales representative for this visit.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Margaret. Thank you.” He tipped his head instead of offering his hand. “Blaine Anderson.”

Apparently the gesture was appreciated because it seemed some of the stiffness she’d held melted from her shoulders. It made her seem far more personable still. Blaine liked it.

“Well, Mr. Anderson, we here at The Bourgeois welcome your patronage. If you’ll follow me?” She began to walk. “Do you have an idea of what you’re looking for in a Docile?”

Truthfully, he didn’t. He hadn’t given more than a cursory thought about the types of Dociles. He knew that there were those that were purely for menial labor, ones that were akin housecarls - those were highly regulated - and some were something like nannies and house keepers. Then there were those that were companions. Blaine didn’t have a need for a bodyguard and he had more than enough money to not have to work a day in his life. Apparently that answered the question, for himself, why he was here.

“A companion. I’ve just moved from Up-State, just outside the city really, and the place I have is far to big for just me.” Which was the truth, he realized. Blaine hadn’t really thought about how much space he was taking on just that he was moving out of his parent’s house. “I’m looking for someone to share that with.”

Margaret led him towards a row of brightly lit panels inlaid into a flat standing pillar. There were six in total and all displayed a variety of data that was confusing to decipher at first. Blaine stared at the for a moment and realized that they were monitors; each contained statistics on a Docile that he assumed were contained behind the doors he saw lining the walls on both the left and right. He didn’t understand some of the data but there was a tiny heart in the upper right hand corner with numbers beside it that he assumed was a heart rate monitor and little squiggles that he believed indicated activity. The rest of it just looked like a list of statistics that made absolutely no sense to him.

Margaret’s fingers danced across the panels at a speed that impressed him and all the monitors switched to video feeds that showed the inside of each cell that corresponded with the information that had been listed. There were four male Dociles and two female. All looked young, perhaps his age or a little older, and healthy. And, yes, attractive. Blaine paid special attention to a boy with soft looking curls and vivid blue eyes.

“Each Docile shown here are companion models and our newest stock. None of them have been with us for more than a month and only one of them has had a previous owner.” She pointed to the bottom monitor. A blond Docile - female - was seated on her cot, reading a book. She was pretty, as they all were, and didn’t seem like she had a care in the world. Blaine liked that but, well, he wasn’t quite looking for a female companion. Margaret must have picked up on that because two of the monitors dimmed and switched back to the data stream; both of them were the females.

Blaine chuckled and shook his head, smiling at Margaret. “And the older stock? Will I be given opportunity to view them?”

“But of course, Mr. Anderson!” She was quick to gesture him to the side where there were more monitors. Apparently each side of the pillar held monitors. Margaret’s fingers again slide across the screens and the data switched to pictures in three of them. Attractive, young males shone on the monitors. “These have been with us for three to six months. Previous owners for the bottom left and top middle.”

She moved around to another side and again brought up video feeds, this time in only two monitors. “The same with these two.”

Blaine nodded and stepped around to the last side of the pillar and looked back at Margaret expectantly when he noticed she hadn’t followed.

“And these?” He lifted a hand to gesture at the monitors. He fought a frown when he caught the woman’s hesitation.

“Those monitors, sir, are the Returns.”

The Returns, if Blaine remembered correctly, were those Dociles whose contracts were broken by their Owners or the authorities. Usually they were the victims of their owner’s inability to continue their care for reasons ranging from health issues, monietary, or even, and much more rarely, abuse. And of those that were returned the majority ended up being labeled Labor despite their designations beforehand. Blaine wasn’t sure why and didn’t think he wanted to know.

“Well,” He said, shrugging. “I’d still like to see them. If that’s not too much trouble?”

Margaret tried to hide her grimace but Blaine caught the minute downturn of her lips and the tightening at the corner of her eyes. She didn’t want to show him these Dociles for some reason but she was moving towards the monitors anyway.

He wondered what was so horrible that she wanted to keep them hidden.