log: antique store - atticus/louis Who: Atticus and Louis What: Atticus visits the antique store. Where: The aforementioned store. When: Recently. Warnings/Rating: N/A.
Lately, one of the only things that could fully separate Louis from worrying about his family, various inquisitors from various churches, and his own partially deified state was working at the store. The store remained constant - still quiet, still dusty, still crammed with toomany things of value for him to believe that his inheriting it had been an accident. Whoever his mysterious benefactor was, they must have known about him. They had to know he would be able to understand these objects, and trace their origins with the long memory of a marginalized god. To think otherwise would be mad.
Despite the strangeness of the stock, the store was a strangely peaceful oasis in the increasing uncertainty of his life. Its eccentricities, at least, were predictable. He stayed behind the counter and assisted visitors from the Capital. He sold expensive objects to people with wealth after lightly embellishing their origins and steering them gently away from, for instance, the gun on the wall labeled simply 'Captain Mahoney's Rifle.' No question, these were not things meant for everyone.
When someone did come in who seemed a good fit, they found the object that was meant for them, like a magnet, or like attracting like. It often felt to Louis as if these people had found a long lost part of themselves, severed at a forgotten moment and hidden purely for the joy of rediscovery. Not all these things were good, and not all would bring good to the people who found them. If it was meant to be, that had to be enough.
Reading books behind the counter, drinking coffee while straightening rusted hinges and wheels for the industrial set, rearranging a display of antique leather gloves under glass, these were the things he liked doing. They gave him a sense of peace and control over his environment. He needed that, just now.
When the door opened, late afternoon on a Wednesday, he was deep in a book and as relaxed as he'd been in days. He knew Casey and Daniel were probably still upstairs, waiting for him to snap or start speaking in tongues, but he could forget about it for a time while working.
He was wearing a light black jacket over a typical grey button down. The weather was taking a turn for the cooler, thank God, and the store was drafty. He lowered the book, indigo colored, its deckled page edges soft under the fingers. "Hello there. Please let me know if there is anything I can help you find."