Re: Webster's: Holly & Elijah
Holly was too entirely himself to want other people's stuff. He was that entitled kinda youth, right? The kind that still thought they knew everything best, and he was hipster stubborn in his tastes. He was made for, like Twitch and YouTube and streaming services. He was modern, and modern liked what it liked. When he found new stuff, it was always like he'd just found it himself, like he'd discovered it. The old stuff was inheritance, right? That was different. Anyway, he made suggestions easily as he counted the till. Some were suggestions based on stuff other people had him ring up or order, and some were things he liked himself. He wasn't way invested in whether or not anyone agreed with him, though. A lot of people in Repose had exceptionally shitty taste in music.
"Not poetry," he said of the Richter, and he pointed at the record player on the shelf, the one with headphones plugged in. "You can try it out. It's kinda something you need to experience yourself." That was the thing with music, right? No one could really do it justice with words.
He glanced at the guy's outstretched hands, but didn't think much of it. Look, he'd come here thinking the world was way normal, right? Twilight Zone was a television thing, and superheroes were for comics, and Dracula was just some sparkly teen-dream. Here, that shit was real, and Holly was going with the flow. So, some recluse with outstretched hands that didn't want to shop during the day? Sure, yeah, he could believe it. Around him, the air buzzed and next door someone was having a fit and tossing plates. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"It's late enough that it's not a risk? You're kinda big on contradiction, guy," Holly offered. Again, nonplussed, right? No big deal. He had to stay and shut the place down regardless, and this wasn't some corporation where all sales had to be noted for some headquarters or something. Whatever this guy bought, Holly could just attribute to tomorrow. All good.