I seriously need to make words...because this week has mostly been a bust...so throw something at me and we'll see what sticks to the creative wall :D

gonna still try to use some of the others (especially the quote) but I do have a little RP bit for my Charles Vane clone...:

A briefcase.

Charles had found a smattering of other odd things discarded along the roadside near Tigh Ard on his daily walks. The usual trash, discarded by careless drivers who ignored the ‘private property’ signs to pass to the point overlooking the sea. A blanket wet with dew that had probably blown out of the back of someone’s pickup truck after some passionate interlude on that point. Empty beer and soda cans and bottles, just as likely to have come from some of Tigh Ard’s residents as from any passersby. Betting tickets from the race track, some with winnings to be claimed that Charles was all too happy to claim for himself. A shoe thrown from a horse. A dropped pack of cigarettes. And most recently, a box of three puppies…starving, dirty, covered with fleas. Two had died despite Charles attentive efforts to save them. The third, however, was thriving, and followed him wherever he went until its still weak body grew too tired for adventure.

That weakness would soon pass. The little guy was a fighter, tough as they come. A survivor, just like Charles

He had named the pup with one blue eye Flint. It seemed fitting without being overly sentimental.

It followed him now as their daily trek along the paved road brought them to the discarded briefcase, a case that little Flint was growling at as he pushed it with his nose. Charles expected there to be something dangerous inside…drugs or a gun perhaps…some body part even giving the pup’s reaction to it. Though latched, the case had no lock, which for Charles ruled out anything dangerous or secret inside and so he opened it after only a cursory inspection for a trap.

It held none of those things. It was stuffed full of bundled one hundred dollar bills.

Charles blinked in surprise. There were no pockets. No identifying marks or cards. No initials or slips of paper to suggest who such a case might belong to. No way of knowing where the case might have come from, no way of knowing who might have tossed it here. Bills for a payoff or a purchase, no doubt. A man like Charles Vane knew that. Someone would be looking for this…either the owner, or the one it was intended to go to.

But that was there problem, not his. If he did not take it, someone else would. Even if the owner knew it had been thrown here, haphazardly discarded in a ditch full of leaves that had not yet collected rain or snow, there would be no way for them to know who had taken it. To the owner, the courier, the intended owner, that money was as good as lost.

Now it belonged to the pirate…and he was going to make damned sure no one in Tigh Ard found it or took it from him. The pirate at heart still was going to protect this horded treasure as he would any other…and make damned good use of it too. Now he had money of his own. To hell with those who wanted to keep him down, keep him poor, keep him controlled.

Oh, me please! The boys are sitting around doing nothing and that means trouble. :D

It took me forever, but I got something written! (I want to come back and use the other prompts for something soon, too.)

Mi-a picat fisa (My Coin Dropped)

Can I have one of each please?

HIT ME!

I'm in, thanks!

I am totally in :)

Alright, here is a 115 word Spider-Man drabble:

It's very foggy!

Edited at 2018-12-09 02:36 pm (UTC)

Let's see if something sticks, hit me, please.

Hit me!

User kitmerlot1213 referenced to your post from Spider-Man fic: It’s very foggy! saying: [...] This is a 115 word Spider-Man drabble for the Weekend Challenge [...]

Is it too late? Can I get one of each?