Out of Character:
I'm liquid timing this so it takes place before Dawnbringers. Also I'm out of practice so I suck and time isn't on my side. Also I've long since stopped giving a fuck. Screw it.
He didn't know why he was there. He wasn't really showy with his money; didn't go around the bazaar hunting for the latest shiny bauble or gimmicked brick of a weapon. He had a well stocked armory, certainly, but he didn't name his weapons or beat himself off thinking about the contours of his guns. They were tools to him. He was a fixer and he had to have the right tool for the right job; be prepared. But beyond a certain point, you were just showing off. He liked keeping his money for the essentials; food, water, clothing, wine, books and an apartment on a high floor of a ritzy building where he could hide for days without anybody but the maids bothering him. Everything was made out of wood and brass. It smelled like a museum. He never had to make his own bed. And he was alone. Blissfully, wonderfully alone. The oasis.
The rest was strictly his kidnap and extortion money and only he and Giacomazzi had the keys to it. That was there just in case anybody ever got the drop on him and decided to put his life for sale instead of just taking him out, unlikely given the truly fantastic bones being the one that had taken him out would provide, but even a small chance was still a chance. Other than that, the much more common use for it was much more boring. Get out of jail, pay off the judge, you didn't see shit, etc.
Anyway, certainly he never hung out at the fucking auction house. Bunch of primping, spoiled peacocks strung out on laudanum and absinthe, jockeying for pole position in their little backwards blueblood arena for the rich and bitchy, fucking and sucking each other off when they weren't throwing daddy's money away. A hellish carnival orgy of money, make-up and entitlement. What a fucking nightmare.
Coming was a bad idea. He'd been bored and decided hey, maybe they'd have something good for sale or there'd be interesting people but no, nothing but shit and a generation of swine wallowing in it. Despite his job, needless conflict always stressed him out and put him in 'work-mode' and the petty bitchiness of these people had tightened his back but good. Ugh. The spiteful stares, the snarky remarks, the needless haranguing. It was too much. These people had their own little world and they could keep it as far as he was concerned.
Luckily, he'd been relatively inconspicuous the whole time so he didn't think anyone would notice him leaving. But just as he stood up, the last item caught his eye. And he didn't know how to describe it. It was just...There. A cooled grape vodka highball on a hot morning. A cute barely legal barista winking at you when handing you your order. A bullet in a gun you thought was empty. The good times. The good life.
He looked around. Was he really...?
"Two hundred gold coins."
Oh well. Fuck 'em.