"Sold!" called the auctioneer, his gavel banging on the desk with a loud crack as the latest purchase was pulled down off the auction stand and into the warehouse to await its new owner.
"This next piece is a brand new selection, no more than five years old. She's got brown hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Ladies and gentlemen this specimen has the potential to be a minor beauty, she comes from great stock. But she's not just pretty; this girl has brains under that fuzzy head of brown fluff. Shall we star the bidding at two?"
"Two," came a husky call from the front row. It was the auctioneer's biggest customer, and the purchaser of the last specimen sold. The auctioneer smiled. The customer was known to pay handsomely, even if he did misuse his property, that wasn't the auctioneer's problem.
"We have two," the auctioneer verified. "Can we get three for this young specimen?"
Another hand rose towards the middle, "Three," came a voice.
"There's three for the man in the back," the auctioneer noted. "Can we get four?" he asked looking down at the customer, knowing the customer would not be beat so easily. This was a fine specimen, lots of potential, and so young. He'd have even more time to corrupt her innocent little mind, and with the unveiled talent lying beneath, he could to great and terrible things with her.
The customer did not disappoint the auctioneer. "Four," he said, with a raise of his spiked black glove.
"Four," replied the auctioneer. "Do we have five?"
"Five," another voice called.
"Five," acknowledged the auctioneer.
"Six," the customer responded.
"Six," verified the auctioneer.
"Seven"
"Seven"
"Eight"
"Eight"
"Nine"
"Nine"
"Ten," the customer replied with a confident air that came with knowing he had won."
The auctioneer gulped, how had the price gotten so high so fast. Oh well, he'd make big money off of this little child. "Ten," he verified.
"One pure, unstained, unbuttered, unsullied, perfect soul," called someone from the back of the auction hall.
"What?" screeched the customer, standing up and looking into the back of the shadowed auction hall. "Who was that? There is no such soul! Not in this hall at least!"
"Oh yes there is," replied the voice, stepping out of the shadows. His clean face and white robes contrasted greatly with the black suits and dirty faces of the other patrons. "Mine," the voice said with a great finality, raising his hand in a formal bid.
The auctioneer squeaked as he saw the raised hand, and knew the man was not bluffing. He gulped again, straitened his patched bowling hat on his head and with a shaking, unsteady, hand he lightly tapped the table with his gavel. "Sold," he said with a shaky voice, "to the man with the holes in his hands."