InsaneJournal

Who: Quinlan Hyde & Isobel Wycliffe
Where: MacNamara Press & Co.
When: Afternoon, May 1, 1867
Status: Incomplete
Summary: Isobel wants to advertise...




Isobel did not have a sentimental bone in her body. Her brother had left; she missed him, but so not so much not to recognize an opportunity to turn this loss to her advantage. Bastian had left behind several firearms in his hasty exit from town that were currently gathering dust in her bedroom. Isobel decided to change that fact and earn a tidy profit into the business.

She rapped briskly on the office door of MacNamara Press and Co., already formulating the exact wording of the advertisement in her head. When the door was not immediately opened, she knocked again, growing impatient.

Quinlan had heard the first knock, and never wanted to lose business-- so he was coming as quickly as he could! She was just impatient. He had been upstairs in his room, actually. He lived above the Press. So setting his book down, he get up, moving to hurry down the stairs, tying his apron back on as he headed to the door. Anyone knocking on the door was usually there for business, and he had to look like he at least worked there. Or was busy.. right? He reached up to push his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose before pulling the door open to bring himself face to face with one of the beautiful young women that worked at the brothel. He didn't really see them as.. well.. whores. Though, he knew they were. He just didn't think like that. He offered her a smile, "Hello...um," He moved aside, motioning for her to come in, "Can I help you?"

Isobel returned his smile with one of her own that was intended to be blinding. She could always tell within the first moments of interacting with someone whether they were going to be pleasant or were one of those intolerable prudes who looked down their noses at her. This man, it seemed, was one of the cordial ones.

“You can!” Isobel replied brightly, stepping into the office. “I'm here on business, Mr. Hyde. The selling buseiness, to be precise."

"Oh," Quinlan nodded and let his smile brighten before he turned to close the door and then moved back around her to go to the desk off to the side, grabbing up a pad and pencil. "What were to wanting to sell, Miss--" He lifted his eyes back up toward her, hoping she'd finish his inquiry and give him her name. "It's Wycliffe, isn't it?"

Now that is was clear he wasn't going to be tiresome about her occupation, Isobel fell back easily into her normal flirtacious ways. She untied the ribbons on her bonnet and flung it carelessly on a chair, turning to face him fully.

"It is, but do call me Isobel. We're too small a town to stand on forced formalities." She looked around the office with blatant curiosity before her gaze finally returned to him. Smiling innocently, she silently ran over the few things she knew about him, most notable amoung them being the fact that he had never patroned the brothel to the best of her knowledge. "My brother left a few firearms behind that I've decided would be better off in more capable, masculine hands."

Quinlan smiled, nodding to her, "Isobel," he corrected and turned to sit on his desk as he watched her fling her bonnet onto a nearby chair. He looked back to his notepad and jotted down her name, "fire...arms.." he nodded, glancing back to her, "firstly.. how should they contact you, Miss Wy-- Isobel." he smiled, "How should they get in touch with you, should they wish to purchase these items from you?"

Isobel seemed to consider the question, moving slowly to stand beside his desk. "Well, I suppose you must know where I live, Mr. Hyde." There was nothing contrite or guilty about the way she innocently said this, indeed a small smile continued to curve her lips. She perched on the desk's edge, removing one lace glove after another and laying them neatly down on a stack of books. "Do you think that particular address might act as a... disincentive to a prospective buyer?"

Quinlan looked to her as she sat down beside him and cleared his throat a bit as he looked away and to his notes again, "well.. To be honest with you, Isobel.. " he nodded a bit and shrugged gently, looking to her again. "Suppose the preacher or.. a school teacher or anyone opposed to your occupation should wish to purchase a gun? Perhaps one of the ones you have to sell is one that is hard to come by around these parts?" he offered her a warm smile and pointed to her with the end of his pencil, "I'll tell you what," he looked back to the pad and began scribbling more stuff down, "we'll list the address to the shop, here. If they're interested, they can let me know and I'll find ways of getting in touch with you," He lifted his gaze back up to meet with hers, "sound okay?"

A more sincere smile illuminated Isobel's face at this offer and she clasped her hands in front of her happily. "Oh, what a kind suggestion! I would so hate for the small mindedness of other people to drive the price down." If she could not charm this man into becoming a patron, at least he showed every indication of being a helpful friend. And weren't soliticious friends the very best kind? "The one I'm most eager to sell is a rifle.... a breech loadinng Merril-Jenks style one" She said this carefully, and it was clear she was quoting from memory.

"Well, Miss Wycliffe.." Quinlan smiled to her, and began, "I suppose it isn't necessarily always small-mindedness.. but rather.. people probably just wished that such a beautiful woman should respect herself better?" He shrugged, "I don't know," He chuckled, "But definitely," He nodded, "I'll print my address, here, for you." He continued writing, "breech.. loading Merril-Jenks style rifle. Got it." He bit at his lip some in thought, working to figure out how he would edit this particular ad for her. He glanced back up at her, "anything else, Isobel?"

There was a time--not too long ago--that even this slight disparagement of her profession would have instantly raised her hackles. Isobel had grown slightly more tolerant toward the issue over the past few months, the comfortable heft of her purse helped ease any insecurities she might feel. "Respect has little to do with it," she said tartly, but with no real anger behind her words. Leaning on her hand, she attempted to peer upside down at his notes. "Career opportunities for young ladies in this town are not exactly inspiring." She shudded at the idea of being a serving girl or, worse yet, a farmer's wife with seven children.

"But I am in your debt for your assistance, sir. What would we in New Shelby do without your publication?" She was back to flirting again it seemed, watching him through lowered lashes as he mused over the advertisement's exact wording.

Quinlan didn't mean any harm by his words. Though, he did think she was too lovely of a woman to subject herself night after night to paying customers that probably weren't so pleasant with her at times. Who knows? Maybe she preferred things that way. He smiled and lifted his eyes back up to her, seeing her leaning in to look at his notes, "I apologize, then..." He nodded and continued writing. "Really, Isobel.. It was nothing. I have to run my business and you wish to make money off of your brother's extra guns.. It's in the best interest of the both of us for me to assist you." He chuckled sheepishly and glanced down, "well.. Wells Fargo would probably bring in back issues of the New York Times or something every few weeks."

Isobel brushed the apology aside with a little wave of her hand. "I'm glad of that, I always try to support local businesses here in town." She said carefully, letting her voice linger slightly on the word local, hoping his thoughts would turn to other nearby establishments in need of patronage. The lack of prurient interest in his gaze as he looked up at her briefly was disheartening, however.

"And I hardly think out-of-date news from New York would fill the void your own paper would leave," Isobel said with sincerity this time, still leaning forward to observe his writing. "We may not be a large town, but surely we deserve better than that."

Quinlan chuckled, "well, you don't have to worry about that, though, do you, Isobel?" He looked back to her, "you have my paper and I know a few are delivered to.. your establishment every morning." He smiled, studying her a moment, his eyes curiously moving over her features. He cleared his throat some, attempting to drag his thoughts elsewhere, "in fact, I used to deliver them, myself.." He looked back to his notes, "was that the only gun you wished to advertise this week?"

"Did you?" Isobel said eagerly, seizing upon this fact. "So you've seen the place yourself then." This was clearly the line of conversation she wished to follow, but some latent sense of manners forced her to response to his question. "Oh, and two pistols. I haven't a clue about their make or origins." And, from her tone, had even less interest in finding out about them. If Bastian insisted on leaving her with nary a letter in six months, it was his own fault if she sold his guns at a loss.

Quinlan chuckled, "yes, actually. I've delivered papers there plenty of times." He nodded, listening to her words, and writing down more verbage for two pistols. He would have asked to see them to see if he could help, but he, himself, knew relatively nothing about them. "two pistols. Got that too." He nodded and looked back up at her.

"Recently?" She prodded, her voice bright. Waiting for his response, Isobel fell into a casual inspection of her nails, trying not to spook him by staring blantantly as was her wont. The chances of turning this man into a customer seemed to diminish which every passing moment, but Isobel could not quite give up her scheme. Persistance tended to pay off in her experience, even against the hopelessly obtuse. "Perhaps you wouldn't find it too terribly inconvient then to pay me a visit if there are any offers?"