One Hundred Grand -challange fic- PG
Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 9:58 pm
Disclaimer, I don't own, any thing you may recognise.Just playing with the toys.
Rating PG
This is my response to the challenge of One Hunderd Thousand.
One Hundred Grand
England early 1900’s
He woke up, feeling the cold damp ground beneath him. His head ached, where he had been struck. Gingerly he sat up, wincing as he did so. He noted that his suit was ruined., torn down the seams, the lining ripped. The mud, and sewer water staining the once pristine material. He knew at once that his wallet had been taken, sighing at the thought of the money missing. It wasn’t really a problem, but it was just the thought of it. He managed to get to his feet, and take stock of his surroundings. The alley he was in was a little of the beaten track, and certainly not in an area of town he would normally be seen. He noted that the shadows were starting to get long, as the day drew to a close. He felt the knaw of hunger in his gut, and knew he needed to feed. He staggered, as he made his way to the road in front of him, wanting to know his whereabouts. He glanced up at the road sign at the junction, and took stock. There was no-one about, so he moved northward towards his own home. He finally came to a more well to do area, where he lived, and kept his head down as a group of ladies passed him by, giving him a disgusted look. He knew his appearance was bedraggled and dirty. Finally made it to his home, entering through the door at the rear. His housekeeper heard the door, and came to investigate. “Oh my Mr Fitzgerald! What has happened to you?” She busied herself removing his damaged coat, and checking him over. As he turned, she saw the blood that had dried on the back of his head. She knew better than to touch him. “I’ll draw you a warm bath, to get you cleaned up. Then well see to getting you something to eat. Go up to your room and remove those dirty clothes. I’ll get rid if them.” Then she turned and left before he could answer her original question. She was like a mother hen to him. Always watching out for him. Smirking he made his way to his chambers. He stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He crossed to the mirror, and checked himself over. The wound in the back of his head had healed, but was still a little sore. Whoever had hit him, had given him a real wallop. Enough to crack his skull. He turned side on, and saw the fading of bruising. He noted that there was blood on his hand, it couldn’t have come from his head, as all the blood there had dried. He lifted his hand to his face, and let out an anguished cry. His ring had gone, it was the one constant in his life, no his un-dead life. His house keeper, found him, sobbing on the floor.
LA present day
“Ladies and gentlemen, we come now to an exquisite piece. It has been dated to the early 16th century. A square cut onyx, with a single diamond mounted in the centre. The stone is in a hand crafted yellow gold setting. It’s provenance place it in mid Russia, from a known craftsman. Mikhil Sorchev. Crafted for the family of Konstantin. It is a beautiful item. We have standing bids, so we shall start the bidding at $25,000.” With a rapid succession the bidding rose, in increments of $10,000. Pausing briefly at £75,000. “Do I hear “85. 85 five at the rear of the room, do I hear 95. The bid is yours sir, do I have any further bids?” A hand raised and showed a half. “$90,000. Any further, bids.” The auctioneer looked about the room, about to close the bidding.
“$100,000” a voice from the shadows called. All eyes turned to look. The auctioneer, accepted the bid.
“I have “100,000.” he turned back to the other bidder, “Do I have $105? No going one, twice, sold for $100,000 to the gentleman at the back. May I have your name Sir.?”
“Kostan, Josef Kostan,”
Rating PG
This is my response to the challenge of One Hunderd Thousand.
One Hundred Grand
England early 1900’s
He woke up, feeling the cold damp ground beneath him. His head ached, where he had been struck. Gingerly he sat up, wincing as he did so. He noted that his suit was ruined., torn down the seams, the lining ripped. The mud, and sewer water staining the once pristine material. He knew at once that his wallet had been taken, sighing at the thought of the money missing. It wasn’t really a problem, but it was just the thought of it. He managed to get to his feet, and take stock of his surroundings. The alley he was in was a little of the beaten track, and certainly not in an area of town he would normally be seen. He noted that the shadows were starting to get long, as the day drew to a close. He felt the knaw of hunger in his gut, and knew he needed to feed. He staggered, as he made his way to the road in front of him, wanting to know his whereabouts. He glanced up at the road sign at the junction, and took stock. There was no-one about, so he moved northward towards his own home. He finally came to a more well to do area, where he lived, and kept his head down as a group of ladies passed him by, giving him a disgusted look. He knew his appearance was bedraggled and dirty. Finally made it to his home, entering through the door at the rear. His housekeeper heard the door, and came to investigate. “Oh my Mr Fitzgerald! What has happened to you?” She busied herself removing his damaged coat, and checking him over. As he turned, she saw the blood that had dried on the back of his head. She knew better than to touch him. “I’ll draw you a warm bath, to get you cleaned up. Then well see to getting you something to eat. Go up to your room and remove those dirty clothes. I’ll get rid if them.” Then she turned and left before he could answer her original question. She was like a mother hen to him. Always watching out for him. Smirking he made his way to his chambers. He stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He crossed to the mirror, and checked himself over. The wound in the back of his head had healed, but was still a little sore. Whoever had hit him, had given him a real wallop. Enough to crack his skull. He turned side on, and saw the fading of bruising. He noted that there was blood on his hand, it couldn’t have come from his head, as all the blood there had dried. He lifted his hand to his face, and let out an anguished cry. His ring had gone, it was the one constant in his life, no his un-dead life. His house keeper, found him, sobbing on the floor.
LA present day
“Ladies and gentlemen, we come now to an exquisite piece. It has been dated to the early 16th century. A square cut onyx, with a single diamond mounted in the centre. The stone is in a hand crafted yellow gold setting. It’s provenance place it in mid Russia, from a known craftsman. Mikhil Sorchev. Crafted for the family of Konstantin. It is a beautiful item. We have standing bids, so we shall start the bidding at $25,000.” With a rapid succession the bidding rose, in increments of $10,000. Pausing briefly at £75,000. “Do I hear “85. 85 five at the rear of the room, do I hear 95. The bid is yours sir, do I have any further bids?” A hand raised and showed a half. “$90,000. Any further, bids.” The auctioneer looked about the room, about to close the bidding.
“$100,000” a voice from the shadows called. All eyes turned to look. The auctioneer, accepted the bid.
“I have “100,000.” he turned back to the other bidder, “Do I have $105? No going one, twice, sold for $100,000 to the gentleman at the back. May I have your name Sir.?”
“Kostan, Josef Kostan,”
