Fiction - Accounted For
Title: Accounted For
Words: 318
Warnings: Original fic involving dragons. Sequel to "Pragmatism"
Accounted For
Tom doesn't believe me when I tell him I'm bi, but I don't mind. He doesn't believe I'm a dragon either, and that could be a bit more problematic if it weren't for the adorable way he smiles whenever I try to tell him, and those humoring-you-because-I-love-you-even-if-you're-crazy kisses that he plants on my nose every time. He does believe I have a hoard of gold. This is probably because he started out our acquaintance as my accountant and there are laws about disclosure, but I like to think it's something other than the current market and commodity values that keeps him from trying to get me to liquidate it and turn it all into mutual funds.
He did try to get me to store it in a bank.
"I... well, I can't," I had to explain, because banks get funny about gold, and funnier about people who occasionally need to roll around on it in the middle of the night because they had bad dreams about being eaten for having unimpressive nests.
He really didn't understand that - said as much, after he finished laughing - but about two weeks later, he told me he'd found a place with room-sized deposit boxes for "special" clients, and 24-hour access keys. Sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me, seriously. If the place had been less than 400 miles away, I might even have taken him up on it.
He did ask to see where I was keeping it instead, and I told him it was a cave beyond the ken of mortals. Tom had to agree that sounded pretty darned secure, but he asked me to please convert 500k into bonds “just to establish a credit rating.” Considering what a tiny fraction of the hoard that was, I felt it was a reasonable request and we've gotten along famously ever since.
Words: 318
Warnings: Original fic involving dragons. Sequel to "Pragmatism"
Accounted For
Tom doesn't believe me when I tell him I'm bi, but I don't mind. He doesn't believe I'm a dragon either, and that could be a bit more problematic if it weren't for the adorable way he smiles whenever I try to tell him, and those humoring-you-because-I-love-you-even-if-you're-crazy kisses that he plants on my nose every time. He does believe I have a hoard of gold. This is probably because he started out our acquaintance as my accountant and there are laws about disclosure, but I like to think it's something other than the current market and commodity values that keeps him from trying to get me to liquidate it and turn it all into mutual funds.
He did try to get me to store it in a bank.
"I... well, I can't," I had to explain, because banks get funny about gold, and funnier about people who occasionally need to roll around on it in the middle of the night because they had bad dreams about being eaten for having unimpressive nests.
He really didn't understand that - said as much, after he finished laughing - but about two weeks later, he told me he'd found a place with room-sized deposit boxes for "special" clients, and 24-hour access keys. Sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me, seriously. If the place had been less than 400 miles away, I might even have taken him up on it.
He did ask to see where I was keeping it instead, and I told him it was a cave beyond the ken of mortals. Tom had to agree that sounded pretty darned secure, but he asked me to please convert 500k into bonds “just to establish a credit rating.” Considering what a tiny fraction of the hoard that was, I felt it was a reasonable request and we've gotten along famously ever since.