Post by Marnie on Nov 17, 2008 17:25:38 GMT
This is a little random oneshot I came up with- hope you enjoy!
Miami, in late spring. Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina” is playing over the loudspeakers, and Merlin is sitting in a deck chair on his patio. He’s sunbathing, sprawled out in a pair of Versace swim trunks, Armani sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. He’s looking over them at the blond near the pool with an air of diffident nonchalance. Life is good.
Arthur is hot and itchy. It’s ninety degrees, and he’s in a $20 Target banana-hammock, crouching down to clean the pool filter. His skin no longer tans: it fries on the surface. He’s spending days cleaning pools, and nights on the tiny futon in his rent-controlled apartment. His life is crap.
Both Merlin and Arthur pause for a moment, considering how they got to that point in their lives.
Merlin decides that he started on this path when he decided to invest. It started as a few hundred in well-chosen companies, and ended up several million worldwide. While banks and private corporations were folding left and right, he was reaping the benefits as a member of Dragon Investments’ Board of Directors.
And it just kept getting better. Over time he was able to buy out Pendragon Enterprises, the World’s #1 retailing entity. And the place where he used to intern became his playground.
Uther, the former boss from hell, was living in an “active singles” community somewhere on the outskirts of Paducah, Kentucky, and working part-time as a Wal-Mart greeter. Morgana kept her position as retail consultant, and Gwen, the former underpaid secretary, became the head of HR. And Arthur… oh, Arthur.
Arthur had been the VP of sales under his father’s administration, but Merlin had changed all that. Merlin still remembered being his PA. Those texts that came at 4 in the morning: “I’m at a club. Pick me up in 5.” Those days when he literally spent hours ironing all of Arthur’s clothes, polishing his shoes, waxing his Mercedes.
Now Merlin had a Porsche, and Arthur was walking around his patio with a plastic net, scooping debris from the pool.
Arthur knew how he’d gotten here. It started when he had met Merlin, and the nightmare had continued from there. He hated Merlin, even back then: that stupid Irish boy, always smiling and being polite, walking around the office in his cords and Converse.
He hated that someone so poor could be so happy, could do absolutely anything he wanted, without a care in the world. So Arthur made him care. Arthur gave him impossible tasks and arbitrary time limits, but Merlin managed to get it all done in an insane amount of time. It’s like he didn’t even have to work at it. And now he was on the cover of the Robb Report, next to a Bentley, smiling under the caption “Wizard of Finance”. Where Arthur was supposed to be.
Merlin called out. “Hey, Arthur. Get me another daiquiri. This one’s getting warm.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, your highness. Anything you say.”
Miami, in late spring. Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina” is playing over the loudspeakers, and Merlin is sitting in a deck chair on his patio. He’s sunbathing, sprawled out in a pair of Versace swim trunks, Armani sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. He’s looking over them at the blond near the pool with an air of diffident nonchalance. Life is good.
Arthur is hot and itchy. It’s ninety degrees, and he’s in a $20 Target banana-hammock, crouching down to clean the pool filter. His skin no longer tans: it fries on the surface. He’s spending days cleaning pools, and nights on the tiny futon in his rent-controlled apartment. His life is crap.
Both Merlin and Arthur pause for a moment, considering how they got to that point in their lives.
Merlin decides that he started on this path when he decided to invest. It started as a few hundred in well-chosen companies, and ended up several million worldwide. While banks and private corporations were folding left and right, he was reaping the benefits as a member of Dragon Investments’ Board of Directors.
And it just kept getting better. Over time he was able to buy out Pendragon Enterprises, the World’s #1 retailing entity. And the place where he used to intern became his playground.
Uther, the former boss from hell, was living in an “active singles” community somewhere on the outskirts of Paducah, Kentucky, and working part-time as a Wal-Mart greeter. Morgana kept her position as retail consultant, and Gwen, the former underpaid secretary, became the head of HR. And Arthur… oh, Arthur.
Arthur had been the VP of sales under his father’s administration, but Merlin had changed all that. Merlin still remembered being his PA. Those texts that came at 4 in the morning: “I’m at a club. Pick me up in 5.” Those days when he literally spent hours ironing all of Arthur’s clothes, polishing his shoes, waxing his Mercedes.
Now Merlin had a Porsche, and Arthur was walking around his patio with a plastic net, scooping debris from the pool.
Arthur knew how he’d gotten here. It started when he had met Merlin, and the nightmare had continued from there. He hated Merlin, even back then: that stupid Irish boy, always smiling and being polite, walking around the office in his cords and Converse.
He hated that someone so poor could be so happy, could do absolutely anything he wanted, without a care in the world. So Arthur made him care. Arthur gave him impossible tasks and arbitrary time limits, but Merlin managed to get it all done in an insane amount of time. It’s like he didn’t even have to work at it. And now he was on the cover of the Robb Report, next to a Bentley, smiling under the caption “Wizard of Finance”. Where Arthur was supposed to be.
Merlin called out. “Hey, Arthur. Get me another daiquiri. This one’s getting warm.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, your highness. Anything you say.”
