The Tycoons : Part 1 (Pls Crit)

I've spent some time traveling around Gather, trying to see how the other half lives or writes. What I noticed was that there are many popular authors who write about way-out fantasies.
So I thought nothing venture nothing have. Why shouldn't I try this genre? Why shouldn't I extend myself. Why shouldn't I live (perhaps for only this article) on the edge?
So here goes.

THE TYCOONS
He looked like that special breed, the British stock broker. He was dressed for the part with his de riguer pinstripe suit, polished black Italian shoes, black bowler hat and leather attache case at his side. In Threadneedle street in London, he may have passed unnoticed as one of the hundreds of businessmen clones.
Caruthers Ponsoby, with his unflappable nature gave the impression that he was insufferably aloof. Those who knew him closely were in awe of his incredible ability. In facr, they thought of him as the financial guru. 

He seemed somewhat out of place, as he stepped over boat parts and old anchor chains, with an air of complete disregard. His cool disdain for the debris would tell any onlooker that he was not a person to care about or even see earthly paraphernalia. These would be to him to be parts of some lower life in which he had no interest.
As he approached a rather ramshackle hut near the riverside, an old man with disheveled hair and beard, rose to his feet and gave a perfunctory salute.
"Morning boss. She's ready for you, boss. I've fitted the mast and tied the sails. Just as you wanted, boss."
The reply was abrupt. "Thank you Floyd. Take it to the pier, will you. Now there's a good chap."

Once at the water's edge, the young man stepped onto the sailboard and after adjusting the sail, began to skim across the river at a fair speed. On the other side, he stored the sail board under a pier, briefly brushed his suit with his hands, walked up the steps, crossed the busy riverfront street and then headed towads the thirty story Midas Tower.

After entering through the tall glass and gold entrance, he was greeted by the doorman, the two desk clerks and the elevator man. They all bowed their heads as they chanted "good morning, Sir."
As he entered the offices on the twelfth floor he was greeted by a stirring chorus of "good morning, Mr. Ponsoby." Judging by his stoic reaction, it was possible that he had not heard the mass salutation. In fact, he did not look right nor left, until he reached the main office with the large plaque bearing the name "Carruthers Ponsoby. President. Cash Your Dreams Inc.

Once inside he walked to his desk and swivelling his chair around to face the street, he stared intently at the scene before him. After precisely five minutes, he held out his right hand and without any delay, a cup of coffee was placed in it. It had been brought in by a young girl, about 22 with green eyes and long black hair. Her white top and dark grey skirt looked smart.
After handing over the cup, she stood waiting as if she had been turned into a wax figure at Madame Tussauds. Without turning around to look at her, he dismissed her.
"Thank you, Miss Robintrop That will be all."

No sooner had the door closed, than he swiveled his chair and looked intently at the ten phones spread from left to right across his table top. In a series of actions that seemed to be blurred, he picked each phone, in turn, from left to right. As he held each phone he barked minimalist commands with a harshness usually heard at military command centers.
In phone one he shouted "sell." In phone two, he shouted "buy". In phone three, he shouted "hold for 24 hours." In phone four, he shouted "I'm sorry Riley. You did not do what I said. You're fired." In this way he barked into each of the ten phones one by one starting from the left.

Carruthers then sat back as if he had begun a meditation or entered a state of reverie. After a while, he opened a drawer and took out a small box made of solid walnut. From it, he took out an old fashioned single shot pistol. Magnificently coated in gold it was obviously a treasured heirloom.
As the large wall clock chimed half past eleven, Miss Robintrop walked again this time carrying a Louis XVI tea-set, on a heavy silver tray. Then some things happened that threw her completely off guard.
She saw the pistol in his hands and heard him say something to her. This had never happened before. She had never heard him say anything more than single five word sentences.

"I say, Miss Robintrop. You do look strange. Have you seen a ghost? Here in the office? Are you sure? Are you alright?"
"Yes Sir. I'm alright, Sir. It's just seeing that gun in your hand. It gave me a shock."
"Oh, you mean this dueling pistol? It's a family thing, you know. Given to us by the Czar. For services rendered. Please don't ask me what they were. Can't really talk about it, you know."
"That's wonderful, Mr Ponsoby. But it's just an ornament, isn't? You can't shoot with it, can you, Sir?"
"Of course not. It's just for show. It makes a good conversation piece at after dinner chats. It's not even loaded. Hasn't been for years."
As he spoke, he pointed the gun at the far wall and with his first smile that she had ever seen playfully pulled the trigger.

The half inch diameter lead ball left the barrel after a deafening bang, hastened, at about 600 feet per second, towards a bronze statue of a discuss thrower, bounced off the athllete's off a shoulder to careen along the far wall. There it tore a gash across a very good copy of a Velasquez painting of a grand but not very handsome queen. The ball continued on its way and ricocheting of a Ming vase found its final resting place in the chest of Miss Robintrop.
When he saw her lying on the floor, a look of concern crossed his face. With raised eyebrows, he stared at her for a while and then walked around his desk to get a better look at her.

"I say, Miss Robintrop. Is this really necessary? I mean lying there like that. What will the people think?"
She was silent for a long time but eventually managed to squeeze out a few words through her tightly clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I think that I've been shot. Don't worry about me lying here, Sir. I'll work in the time after hours."
He looked at her for a while and then went into the wash room, opened a medicine chest and took out the only bottle to be seen. He opened the cork and smelt it.
"Aha. A good old fashioned cough syrup. That should just about do it."

Kneeling next to her, he held a spoonful of the elixir to her lips. Looking at him with total trust in her eyes, she slowly sipped the syrup.
Then very unusual things, of a medical nature, began to happen. Perhaps triggered by his new found caring attitude, fate began to take control of the situation. Perhaps it was all due to the fact that Miss Robintrop had been blessed by having a duplex cerebral cortex at birth. A freak occurrence that only happens once in every 100 000 people.

As he stared at her, her colour seemed to change. It looked as if she was acquiring a light golden sheen. When he gently wiped her mouth with his handkerchief , some of the fine gold layer rubbed off onto his hand. Immediately his aloof attitude changed and he began to look at her with renewed interest and even some warmth.
To his utter amazement, he saw that the blood stains on her blouse had totally disappeared and she had begun to smile. Suddenly, she leapt to her feet and spoke a little excitedly.
"There you are, Mr Carruthers. I'm no longer shot. In fact, I've never felt better. Would you like me to bring you some fresh tea, Sir."

"No, Miss Robintrop. This tea will be fine. I think that I've had quite a busy day. Perhaps I should leave the office now. Go somewhere. I suddenly feel that I have a lot to think about."
"Very well, Sir. I'll tell your secretary to take all your calls."

When he left, Miss Robintrop waited for a while and then hurried back into his office. Once there, a purposeful look came over her face and she began to re-arrange all of the phones on his desk. The phone that had been number one was now in seventh place and the phone that was in the second place now became the tenth phone. Soon all of the phones were in new positions.
With a smile of triumph and a little dance step, she turned and left the office.

BEGIN OF INTERMISSION

Some Important Information
People speak about the affairs of the heart. Although this may be scientifically inaccurate, there's no reason to change this idea in our writings and our poems. After all, all that you need to do to check the role of the heart is to measure its beat rate when love enters the scene.
But there's another area in the body, actually in thre brain, where all the emotions, drives and attitudes are initiated. This is where the pituitary gland and the cerebral cortex are located. It is here, where the feel-good Serotonin is generated, for example.
In this story, this part of the brain plays a major role. It comes into play when Miss Robintrop is first shot and then sees the very aloof Carruthers, thaw just a little, and even show a minuscule amount of tenderness. That was when her remarkable duplex cortex sprang into action. Such a rare nerve centre is the most powerful mentor, muse, guide and facilitator known to medical science.
In fact, it is so powerful that is able to manufacture a rare chemical known as love dust. This is a golden coloured substance that can, by means of osmosis, permeate the person's whole body and bring this person to a state of divine ecstasy or nirvana.
There's more. This substance can pass through the skin and permeate the body of anyone that touches the gifted person.
The result of spreading this so-called love dust is that both parties begin to feel the urge to touch, caress, cuddle and even say sweet words.

END OF INTERMISSION

Part 2 Follows