The petblood sat in cold bathwater, whining as they were scrubbed vigorously by their owner, hard enough that it hurt, but left no obvious brush marks. Then tried to scramble away as they were rubbed near twice as hard with the towel, and clothes were shoved on their frail frame. They didn’t speak out, but made plenty of upset and uncomfortable noises. A frilly dress, with a short skirt to it barely covered their rear, but once it was on them and their hygeine was done up enough to make them look presentable and worth something (compared to how their owner had treated them), they were collared, leashed, and pushed harshly down onto their bum. Whimpering as they listened, the owner told them the same things they were told always and anytime this happened: behave and do as their told; only speak when spoken to; do not fight. The white-blood shook with fear. They knew what was going on, they’ve been here before. And they almost wanted to fight the mask being shoved over their face because without it they couldn’t leave Owner’s hive, and without it everyone involved here could get in trouble. Owner however always had the upper hand and was stronger, and probably knew what was best. The weaker of the two continued to whimper and whine. They didn’t want this.
Walking on all fours because it was easier than on just their hind legs, they were led out, clean white tinsel like hair shining off the artificial light of the room, reflecting colors slightly. Eyes darting around, looking for the troll in particular who would take them, and hurt them, one way or another.