Re: [log: antique store - daniel/claire/louis]
Claire was not...precisely what Louis might have anticipated she would be. Her features were a little wan and harsh while lovely, and she was certainly overdressed for the summer heat. Whatever rattled in her pockets, she seemed unconcerned with removing her coat and not having access to it directly. Standing next to her, he felt something not altogether dissimilar from the feeling he had when he touched her spear, all those months ago.
He moved aside to allow her in. He had been sleeping, lately, so there were no ominous dark circles here, nothing but a cleanly pressed linen shirt, rumpled from the day, and very human worry. Malintent and violence did not radiate from his skin. Every once in a while, to someone tuned to that sort of thing, there was a whiff of the strange - a crack in the radiation shielding, a few solitary isotopes floating out and away. But that was all.
"I have, thank you," he said, but that was too cordial too much small talk for this. "As much as I can be. And there's nothing to apologize for. I didn't make it any easier on you."
Then Daniel melted out of the shadows, dark-eyed and shuddering with tension. Louis shut the door slowly behind them both, and his expression changed entirely. "Daniel," he said, a little more softly. "Thank you for coming." It did mean something. He knew how difficult it was for him, but he hadn't seen Daniel like this, or at all, in some time. To the tea, he shook his head. "No need, I have plenty up the stairs." He gestured to the base of the steps, hand extended just enough to indicate he would take Daniel's and guide him up, if he liked. "The kettle is hot."
He started up the stairs, whether Daniel took his proffered hand or no. "I only hope I can be of some help." He tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible. He was still afraid - of course he was still afraid. But now he was more afraid of what he might learn, things he wished he didn't need to know.
The apartment above the store was surprisingly spare considering how cluttered things were downstairs. The furniture was mostly cribbed from the stock he inherited with the shop. The bedroom was down a short hall, but the living room boasted a heavy oak kitchen table and several mismatched chairs. They ranged an eclectic gamut, from 19th century chinoiserie with an embroidered seat to an art deco number with curved maple arms and a comfortable divot in the back. The room was balmy, a window air conditioner chugging away in the corner to bring the temperature down to a more comfortable level. The walls were white, repainted sometime since Louis had moved in. The leather couch showed signs of being slept on, and a blanket was folded neatly at the foot - Casey, recently arrived but not currently present. Louis had seen to that. The rag rug in front of the sofa was comfortable enough to sit on by itself, but there was also a vintage easy chair, close to the window, positioned to catch the light in the day.
There were mugs on the counter already. "What would you like?" he asked. "I have herbal, earl grey, assam, gunpowder..." A small wooden shelf against the tile backsplash played host to bags of loose leaf and collections of colorful tea bags. The apartment smelled clean, if a little musty. The books on the shelf were equally as eccentric as the furniture, everything from a heavy leather-bound tome on the bottom shelf to a few recent hardcovers, sandwiched between illustrated victorian editions of this and that. The corner of the low mid-century coffee table was currently occupied by a short stack of leather-bound volumes.