[Writing Contest] - THE ARENA

very well - to reflect my ability to pick a theme and my hopes at producing anything decent, I'll pick the theme "desperation".
:pac:

Mine is pretty bad, way out of practice
was fun to write again though


"desperation"


Tom fell to his knees and prayed fervently, crying out to all the gods for mercy and luck.
Or at least he would have, had he been alone. Instead, he maintained a calm front as he waited for her reply. She considered the box in front of her, the box that he had brought here what seemed an eternity ago. In reality, perhaps fifteen minutes.
He made his living, such as it was, acquiring rare items by any means legal or otherwise and selling them on. He had not had a find in a long time, and he was now barely surviving. He had nothing set aside for a rainy day, and had not eaten in two. Lines of credit had dried up; debts were being called in; friendly faces were not so friendly anymore. In short, he was a desperate man. When this box had fallen into his hands, he was overcome with relief. Never mind that possessing it fell into the “otherwise” area of legality, so much so that normally even he would never consider touching it. Never mind that if anyone else found out he had it, his life would be forfeit.

Now here they were, in this dark, tucked-away room; she was considering its purchase and he was waiting for her response. He nearly flinched when she spoke at last. Nearly, but still had enough self-control left. Just.
“You realise what this is, of course.”
He opened his mouth to reply. Of course he knew. And he knew how risky it was to be showing such a rare and dangerous treasure about, to be offering it for sale so abruptly and clumsily. He knew how hungry he was.
He opened his mouth, her eyes caught him, and he closed it again.
Now, the slightest hint of a smile touched her lips. “Perhaps I am not interested in buying it after all. Why should I risk this, after your tale of how you "found" it? It could even be a fake.”
He studied her face carefully despite rising despair. She was toying with him. He knew she was interested enough in it to be here at all, with her impassive guards and her rustling silks. But “interested” was not “bought”.
He spoke calmly and carefully, years of practise backing his composure. “You are knowledgeable enough to know that it is not a fake. As for how I found it, you could explain away anything you choose. If you are not interested, say so and I will take it and go.” This last was risking too much, this was not the careful dance of bargaining, but he could not help himself. If this did not work out, he had nobody else lined up, no other recourse, nothing. It was valuable, yes, but riches in his pockets were no use with his throat slit, and the latter was a guarantee.
She watched him. He met her gaze, staring evenly back at her. Not a muscle twitched as the silence drew long. The air was still, there was nothing moving, no sound; there was nothing in the world except the two of them. A betraying bead of sweat ran down his forehead.
Her delicate features shifted to hint a negation. “No.” She stood up to leave, and the guards moved to follow her. Tom let out a half-whimper, his control finally slipping. “Are you sure…?”
She looked at him and walked out. He stared at their backs, speechless and numb. He had pushed too far. Now he had nothing.
He finally fell to his knees and closed his eyes.