Spain Drabbles
Cold iron cuffs dressed the man being led to the stage. The fine uniform of the Armada was left in soiled shreds. The rat infested prison and the abuse of the Queen's dogs had tarnished the proud symbol into a beggars robe. But the man made no complaint as he was dragged onto the stage.
He knew this arena well, though he was not used to his new role. The jeers of the crowd, the appraisals of the merchants, yes he knew the slave market well. It was no surprise to him when the auctioneer incited the audience, "And next we have a fine Spanish lad! Good build, well nourished, literate. An excellent hand servant or field worker! Starting bids at £500!"
He heard the voices all around him, shouting out bids, each higher than the next, though the coarse fabric over his eyes prevented him from determining who called out which prices. He idly wondered how much he would be sold for, how much his life was worth. "And SOLD for £1280!" Well he got his answer.
A tug on his wrists caused him to nearly stumble forward as he was led from the platform. Light burned at his weary eyes, tired form lack of use, because there really was nothing to look at in the brink of a ship. Just floorboards and prison bars, neither of which was terrible interesting. And that young man must be his new owner. He looked like a pompous schoolboy, with his cheeks puffed out and a tomato in hand. His new master ordered some insignificant stagehand to tie him to his cart, and once again he was being pulled away. As he walked to his new life he caught a set of green eyes smiling at him. So what if that bastard won. He would get his revenge. He was already gathering his pieces about him. This defeat wouldn't go unchallenged.
AN: RnR Advise on style and context is appreciated~ 3