Wealthathon: Gold and Platinum
Aug. 5th, 2013 06:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeThis prompt was kludged together from prompts from Megan, who wanted people robbing a dragon, Anna of colada, who wanted a dragon hoard not necessarily of monetary value, and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
meepalicious, who also wanted immaterial wealth and a dragon's hoard. It was sponsored by silvercat17! EDIT:Now illustrated by the lovely Gwen Katz!
Platinum and Gold
“Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?”
“You heard them; this is the richest dragon on the west coast, and I’m out of beer money. Do you want to be an adventurer or not?”
“I just really don’t know that I’m prepared to take on a dragon.”
“Look, who’s the experienced adventurer here? Who’s robbed every dragon north of Baja?”
Flatly: “You.”
“You what?”
“You, sir.”
“Exactly. You’d be lucky to scrub my floor, never mind get an internship with me. So shut up and learn how it’s done, or go back to the sticks and bag groceries for a living.”
Steph bit her tongue and adjusted the sweaty backpack straps. Sir Lewis topped her by six inches and fifty pounds; carrying his gear like a burro while he trotted along empty-handed was insult on top of injury, and she glared daggers at his back. He didn’t seem hot or tired at all. Just another month of this, she told herself. Then she’d have her year of adventurer experience, and she could get out of here. Just one more month…
They finally crested the mountain ridge. Around them was charred grass, and in front of them lay a dark, foreboding cave, with the faint sulfuric odor of dragon. No cover whatsoever, and lots of claw marks. Steph’s misgivings deepened.
“Very atmospheric,” Sir Lewis said approvingly, but his expression soured when he caught Steph checking the sky. “You got a problem?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Come on.”
The dragon’s lair was cool and dry inside, and surprisingly neat and clean. The stone was worn smooth and shiny, decorated with the occasional throw pillow and poster. While Sir continued on inside, Steph paused to glance at one on the wall.
“Is that Barbra Streisand?” she asked.
Sir Lewis sent a baleful look back at her. “Do I look like I care? Quit sightseeing. We have a hoard to snatch.”
For such a rich dragon, its lair was small, only a few rooms separated by bead curtains. Past the entrance hall was a beanbag nest, which Steph started to question, only to change her mind, sure she’d get nothing but a sarcastic retort from Sir Lewis. Then they passed a room filled with bones, picked clean and artfully arranged. Some of the skulls had flowers and succulents growing in them. Steph shuddered and hastily followed Sir Lewis into the next room, which proved to be the last. And inside… the hoard!
It was filled entirely with records and concert posters.
“I climbed all the way up the mountain for this?” Sir Lewis complained.
For once, Steph was happy to say, “Yes, sir.”
“This is bull! They told me this dragon had more gold and platinum than any dragon on the west coast!”
“I do,” came a miffed, reptilian voice behind them.
Steph and Sir Lewis spun. Behind them lay a slender, rather iguana-like dragon about twenty feet long, dressed in a plaid skirt and bulky glasses. It seemed to enjoy their surprise.
“Gold and platinum albums,” it continued, and with one lash of its tail, it pinned Sir Lewis to the floor. “Really, you just walk into my cave in broad daylight, without even the common decency to conceal your presence? My burglar alarm isn’t even that expensive.”
Sir Lewis bellowed and drew his gun, but never made it. The dragon swallowed him with one gulp, then turned to Steph, her cheap clothes, her lack of armor, her enormous pack. “Hmm. You don’t look like an adventurer.”
Steph swallowed. There was no point in running; even if she dumped the backpack, she was sweaty and tired, no match for a well-rested dragon. So instead, she bowed. “I-I’m not, your greatness. I’m his…” god, she hated saying it, “...intern.”
Apparently it showed. The dragon gave her a sardonic glance. “You don’t seem particularly enthused about the situation.”
Steph spread her hands. “I wanted to get out of Missoula, and I couldn’t afford college. This was all I could get. I’m sorry about this. I don’t really want to be here.”
“I can tell. Stop shaking, I’m not going to eat you. You were polite, and I’m full.”
“Thanks.” She looked around at the hoard. “This is an amazing collection. I saw your poster in the front, and it looked like new.”
The dragon preened and dug into its collection with the air of someone discussing their truest love. “Why, thank you! Every dragon with delusions of capitalist supremacy hoards precious metals. Me? I prefer sonic poetry. I have fond memories of every single one of these; I could tell my biography to you in song. I hatched listening to old wax cylinders!”
The dragon gestured Steph over, and showed her a perfect copy of the Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album on vinyl, autographed by the band. It took no effort for Steph to go, “Ooh!” But she knew better than to try and touch it.
The dragon looked proud.
“You know,” Steph said, “before I worked for Sir Lewis, I worked for a record store in Missoula for a few years. My dad was a restorer; I’m not as good as him, but… do you need any stewards for your collection?”
She was afraid she’d offend the dragon, imply that it couldn’t take care of its own hoard, but it didn’t seem insulted. “Hmmm, perhaps. My claws are so big… but forget work for now. You clearly have an appreciation for the true treasures in life, and I’ve got every hit ever made, right back to Glenn Miller’s ‘Chattanooga Choo-Choo,’ circa 1942. Would you like to hear it? I’ve kept it in pristine condition.”
“I’d like that very much, thank you.”
The dragon slid past her into the piles of records, using the tips of its claws to remove one from its special sleeve, and together, the dragon and the apprentice listened to old songs until sundown.
Apparently that evening was all the dragon needed to make up its mind. The next morning, Steph had a new job, and a much better boss.
meepalicious, who also wanted immaterial wealth and a dragon's hoard. It was sponsored by silvercat17! EDIT:Now illustrated by the lovely Gwen Katz!Platinum and Gold
“Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?”
“You heard them; this is the richest dragon on the west coast, and I’m out of beer money. Do you want to be an adventurer or not?”
“I just really don’t know that I’m prepared to take on a dragon.”
“Look, who’s the experienced adventurer here? Who’s robbed every dragon north of Baja?”
Flatly: “You.”
“You what?”
“You, sir.”
“Exactly. You’d be lucky to scrub my floor, never mind get an internship with me. So shut up and learn how it’s done, or go back to the sticks and bag groceries for a living.”
Steph bit her tongue and adjusted the sweaty backpack straps. Sir Lewis topped her by six inches and fifty pounds; carrying his gear like a burro while he trotted along empty-handed was insult on top of injury, and she glared daggers at his back. He didn’t seem hot or tired at all. Just another month of this, she told herself. Then she’d have her year of adventurer experience, and she could get out of here. Just one more month…
They finally crested the mountain ridge. Around them was charred grass, and in front of them lay a dark, foreboding cave, with the faint sulfuric odor of dragon. No cover whatsoever, and lots of claw marks. Steph’s misgivings deepened.
“Very atmospheric,” Sir Lewis said approvingly, but his expression soured when he caught Steph checking the sky. “You got a problem?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Come on.”
The dragon’s lair was cool and dry inside, and surprisingly neat and clean. The stone was worn smooth and shiny, decorated with the occasional throw pillow and poster. While Sir continued on inside, Steph paused to glance at one on the wall.
“Is that Barbra Streisand?” she asked.
Sir Lewis sent a baleful look back at her. “Do I look like I care? Quit sightseeing. We have a hoard to snatch.”
For such a rich dragon, its lair was small, only a few rooms separated by bead curtains. Past the entrance hall was a beanbag nest, which Steph started to question, only to change her mind, sure she’d get nothing but a sarcastic retort from Sir Lewis. Then they passed a room filled with bones, picked clean and artfully arranged. Some of the skulls had flowers and succulents growing in them. Steph shuddered and hastily followed Sir Lewis into the next room, which proved to be the last. And inside… the hoard!
It was filled entirely with records and concert posters.
“I climbed all the way up the mountain for this?” Sir Lewis complained.
For once, Steph was happy to say, “Yes, sir.”
“This is bull! They told me this dragon had more gold and platinum than any dragon on the west coast!”
“I do,” came a miffed, reptilian voice behind them.
Steph and Sir Lewis spun. Behind them lay a slender, rather iguana-like dragon about twenty feet long, dressed in a plaid skirt and bulky glasses. It seemed to enjoy their surprise.
“Gold and platinum albums,” it continued, and with one lash of its tail, it pinned Sir Lewis to the floor. “Really, you just walk into my cave in broad daylight, without even the common decency to conceal your presence? My burglar alarm isn’t even that expensive.”
Sir Lewis bellowed and drew his gun, but never made it. The dragon swallowed him with one gulp, then turned to Steph, her cheap clothes, her lack of armor, her enormous pack. “Hmm. You don’t look like an adventurer.”
Steph swallowed. There was no point in running; even if she dumped the backpack, she was sweaty and tired, no match for a well-rested dragon. So instead, she bowed. “I-I’m not, your greatness. I’m his…” god, she hated saying it, “...intern.”
Apparently it showed. The dragon gave her a sardonic glance. “You don’t seem particularly enthused about the situation.”
Steph spread her hands. “I wanted to get out of Missoula, and I couldn’t afford college. This was all I could get. I’m sorry about this. I don’t really want to be here.”
“I can tell. Stop shaking, I’m not going to eat you. You were polite, and I’m full.”
“Thanks.” She looked around at the hoard. “This is an amazing collection. I saw your poster in the front, and it looked like new.”
The dragon preened and dug into its collection with the air of someone discussing their truest love. “Why, thank you! Every dragon with delusions of capitalist supremacy hoards precious metals. Me? I prefer sonic poetry. I have fond memories of every single one of these; I could tell my biography to you in song. I hatched listening to old wax cylinders!”
The dragon gestured Steph over, and showed her a perfect copy of the Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album on vinyl, autographed by the band. It took no effort for Steph to go, “Ooh!” But she knew better than to try and touch it.
The dragon looked proud.
“You know,” Steph said, “before I worked for Sir Lewis, I worked for a record store in Missoula for a few years. My dad was a restorer; I’m not as good as him, but… do you need any stewards for your collection?”
She was afraid she’d offend the dragon, imply that it couldn’t take care of its own hoard, but it didn’t seem insulted. “Hmmm, perhaps. My claws are so big… but forget work for now. You clearly have an appreciation for the true treasures in life, and I’ve got every hit ever made, right back to Glenn Miller’s ‘Chattanooga Choo-Choo,’ circa 1942. Would you like to hear it? I’ve kept it in pristine condition.”
“I’d like that very much, thank you.”
The dragon slid past her into the piles of records, using the tips of its claws to remove one from its special sleeve, and together, the dragon and the apprentice listened to old songs until sundown.
Apparently that evening was all the dragon needed to make up its mind. The next morning, Steph had a new job, and a much better boss.
