Re: [Antique store: Atticus and Louis]
Atticus wasn't particularly charming. Had never considered himself charming. Had never been charming. Supposed there was something resembling charm in his lazy smile, the one that seemed completely easy and thoughtless, like something eked out organically. Had never thought about it. Had never been popular. Sure, some girls had hit on him in high school, but he'd found out quickly that he wasn't interested in what they had to offer. But, now, he smelled like old booze and old smokes, and he walked up to the counter and put his bottle on the flat surface.
"Sir? Feeling formal?" Atticus' smile, close up, was just as lazy. Grin, elbow on the surface, attention on the blond man behind the counter. Looked down at the wares housed there, then up again. "Was thinking about Edgar Allen Poe. The story goes he had some mourning objects for his underage, incestuous beloved. Some of my contemporaries claimed these items were haunted. Figured if anyone had haunted mourning paraphernalia belonging to dead writers, it would be you." Was true. Wasn't a lie. Knew Louis was the kind of man to collect death items belonging to tragic literary figures. Seemed like the type. Atticus knew the type. And if this stop came to nothing, at least it was something to do. Deviation from the life he was presently sick of. If it did work, he might summon up a haunt he was actually interested in. Win-win.
Outside the windows, the haunts waited. They could go fuck themselves. Atticus reached into his pocket and pulled out his back of unfiltered Reds. Tapped them on the counter. "Mind?"