Don’t Take Life Too Seriously; You Might Start a Bidding War

Conroy de Uvald sneered as Marvril de Touala gloated over his new acquisition. He didn’t believe for a second Welkran Ka’az’s familiar had somehow found its way onto the open market, and Marvril couldn’t have either. How like him to play these games.

Strictly a power move, by his estimation. Marvril’s pockets were so deep he could expend money on a clear counterfeit and not bat an eye. If called on it, he could confess he did it on a whim so he could claim he “bought” Ka’az’s familiar. The Finfare Fair had certified it after all. Or if the situation called for it, he could wield it as a form of subjugation, insisting on its authenticity and daring anyone to deny it.

But what aggravated Conroy the most was his flippant display of disposable wealth. No doubt this show was partially a jab at him. Well, he would show this ostentatious dandy, with his green top hat and burgundy suit! He had promised to purchase the yutsuukitsuu as a birthday gift for his daughter... a very early birthday gift. Regardless, it would serve as a convenient excuse if asked why he had bought such a clear vanity item.

“We will start the bidding at 500 Noggins.” And the bidding had begun. A hand went up, and then another. Conroy’s hand remained still. It was unbecoming to intermingle your bids with the common rabble. He would wait until they had run out of steam and then place his bid as any noble gentleman would. Sure, you might have to contend with the last bidder, a problem mostly avoided by dwarfing the previous offer.

While he waited for the bids to run their course, he once again sized up his new acquisition. The creature appeared smaller than he remembered, and perhaps in poorer health? It also looked quite uncomfortable up on the stage with its tail tucked between its legs. Reminded him of the ratty dog a stable boy owned that would always cower behind its master’s leg whenever someone walked by. Well, it didn’t matter. The statement would be made, regardless.

“I have 3040 Noggins. Do I hear 3100?” The auctioneer paused and looked around, but no other bids were forthcoming. It was time. The bidding hadn’t reached as high as it had for the sylph, but he would soon remedy that. A nice even 3500 ought to put Marvril in his place. Conroy smiled in self-satisfaction as he went to raise his hand.

“3600!” Came a voice, not his own. He looked over just as Marvril's head turned to face him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you interested in the yutsuukitsuu?” He threw up a sheepish grin. “Well, this is quite awkward. I never would have placed a bid if I had known.” A pocket of air escaped his lips as he stroked one end of his forked beard. “You will have to forgive me. It was an honest mistake. I would never figure one dressed so… standard to have such interests.”

Conroy had to loosen his collar to let a cloud of steam escape. “Don’t you give me any of your glib mockery, Marvril! I won’t tolerate it!”

Marvril shrugged. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but you do understand. Now that I have entered the bidding, I must put up a good show.”

With drawn lips, Conroy turned back to the auctioneer. “4000!” No point in small bid increases. That would only give that Touala the show he thrived on.

An awe swept through the onlookers. Anyone who was anybody would be familiar with the last two bidders. And only somebodies would occupy the potential bidding area of the audience. These clashing whales were none other than the two most powerful people in the country next to the king. Also widely known—though to a lesser extent—was the longstanding rivalry between their two houses. In short, Conroy had thrown down the gauntlet and declared war with his competing bid.

A jovial head-shake and Marvril raised the bid. The word, “4700,” came out as easily as one might greet a doorman.

Damn him! Conroy thought while struggling to maintain his composure. Was he bluffing, or did he intend to go all the way with this? “5500!”

Yawning, “6500,” came a lazy bid from Marvril.

Only one person could get Conroy to grind his teeth. Marvril, lacking the dignity to keep their rivalry professional, had dragged it out into the street for the masses’ spectacle. How he wanted to drown this man into the Namaic. Despite his attempt to thwart Marvril’s performance, he had only shifted the competition from willingness to bid to bid size. “8000!”

The crowd fell silent. Every eye shifted from Conroy to Marvril. “Well, it looks like I will actually have to open my wallet today.” A grin tugged his forked beard into a smile of its own. “10,000 Noggins.”

The eyes bounced back to Conroy, the intensity only growing. Well, this was ridiculous! Spending this much money on something frivolous would only paint him a careless spendthrift. If Marvril wanted to inculcate that image so badly, then let him!

Of course, he still needed to offer a demeaning excuse why he would give up the bid. He paused a moment to think up an appropriate rebuke, but as he turned to offload it on Marvril, he caught Amillia’s eyes. “You’re… not going to let him have Olavir, are you?” Her eyes glistened as she choked out the words.

Dagger straight through the heart. Damn that Marvril! Now he would have me break my word to my daughter!? Well, he hadn’t actually promised, but he had said the words and an Uvald always means what he says. After this, nothing else would appease her for her 11th birthday. Damnit, sometimes there were things more important than appearances!

“15,000 Noggins!” If not for Conroy’s full attention directed at attacking the auctioneer with his 50% raise, he might have noticed some eyes other than his daughter’s tearing up.

All gazes drifted back to Marvril. “…Conroy my dear man,” he said, eyes wide. “I had no idea you were acquiring this creature for your lovely young daughter,” he continued as he brought an apologetic hand to his chest. “And she even went to the trouble of naming him.” An almost convincing look of remorse sank over his face. “I would never have tried to come between her and her Olavir if I had known. Please accept my deepest apologies.” And he gave his best mock apologetic bow.

The crowd bought it though, judging by their vigorous round of applause. Damn you Marvril! Despite losing, you still come out looking better than ever, even more so than if you had won, I dare say! But he had renewed his reputation after going all in for his daughter. So he would call this battle a draw. Although he had dropped enough money to buy a second chateau.

Still, his daughter hugged him tightly. That had to be worth something.

I had never been great in front of an audience. Whenever they had come up, I could only stumble my way through. Opposed to my good friend Ripley, who thrived in such situations—never could understand that. In short, I could handle them, but much preferred to avoid them if at all possible.

So after gazing over the crowd all decked out in their Sunday best, looking me over like a piece of meat, you might think I kept it together, though perhaps under duress. Not the case. I’ve no doubt Ripley would have thrived in such a situation. He would have insisted they drag a piano up so he could play as fair-goers levied bids—he never had a sense of the gravity of a situation. I tried to collapse in on myself like a dying star. At least I didn’t have to perform, and if I blacked out, I wouldn’t have to be conscious, either.

Like Ripley, Asal Alaba flourished on stage, smiling at each new bid. Since it distracted me from the crowd, and therefore helped with my anxiety, I focused all my attention on watching his reactions. Despite his cheery facade, as the bids crawled upwards, his eyes grew apprehensive, though the crowd wouldn't have noticed.

“I have 3040 Noggins. Do I hear 3100?” Only the ever-present murmur hummed from the onlookers. His anxiety plateaued as he looked over the bidders. Several passes over the crowd uncovered no further prospective bidders and the light bleed from his eyes. With a sigh that almost gave me sympathy, he put on a resigned smile.

So that was it. He was worried about the final price. Figures.

“3600!” Came a voice, and Asal Alaba’s vigor returned as he sucked back in his sigh, his eye once again coming to life.

A commotion stirred in the crowd. An argument had manifested between the green-hatted man who had bought the sylph and the noble gentleman from before, Conroy, I believe his name was.

“4000!” Every eye in the audience turned to look at the bidder. My eyes went to Asal, however, who seemed to have just grown taller.

“4700.” His rapacious smile had run out of real estate and his beard was conscripted to make up the distance.

“5500!” A tear ran down his cheek. He continued to stand there like a weeping statue as a couple more bids came in.

“10,000 Noggins.” And his soul departed his body. Well, probably not, but the mortal coil couldn’t be capable of containing the joy his spirit must be experiencing—even I could feel it as plainly as if by yutsuukitsuu telepathy.

The ending credits were rolling for Asal Alaba when the final offer came in. “15,000 Noggins!”

Even I hadn’t expected this after the credits scene, and the shout of a 50% higher offer had left me flummoxed. The Sun might have set for Asal, though, as foam formed at the edges of his mouth. His dignity didn’t suffer though, as the crowd had broken into thunderous applause—probably because of the impressive bid—and nobody noticed, even as he fell backward as if struck down by the hand of god… lucky bastard.

Fortunately—for him anyway—I managed to slap him awake before the auctioneer finalized the winning bid.

“W-What happened?” He said, coming to.

“You fainted,” I said, throwing my weight back and pulling him up with great effort—unsure why. I led him off the stage, still regaining his wits.

“I just had the most wonderful dream,” he said with a whimsy as we descended the short set of stairs onto the green fairgrounds. “I had just made the sale of a lifetime.” Now he looked at me, confused. “Wait, wasn’t I selling you?”

“Yes…” I drawled out with only thinly veiled contempt. “That wasn’t a dream you had. It just happened.”

“But that cannot be… 10,000 Noggins would be an absurd price to pay!” I shot him a side glare, contempt no longer veiled.

“Well, it wasn’t 10,000 Noggins.”

“Ah,” he sounded disappointed. “Of course, it wouldn’t be...”

“It was 15,000,” I said with a haughty sense of pride. “You must have blacked out before then.”

“What!?” His legs threatened to buckle beneath him.

“Don’t you pass out on me again, I’ll leave your ass here!” Seeing as I was now someone else’s property, I had no reason to feign cordiality with this deceptively gregarious slaver. All the same, I don’t think he heard a single thing said to him after that, from me or otherwise.