Re: Antique Store: Louis/Sparrow
She didn't expect him to kiss her hand, but there would have been no surprise in the warm and wide blankness of her grey eyes, should he have done so. She was accustomed to all kinds of reactions to her, and perhaps she cultivated reactions, much in the same way he cultivated items in this store. Or, if not him, in the same way someone had done. Because the things here, they were all alive, and they'd all lived, but she couldn't tell if he knew, not just by looking at him. And oddity was acceptable in the Carnival, and she was safe there with her omens and her understandings, but she didn't feel safe out here, even with the magic that churned belly in this place.
"I like birds. If you get any bird items, you'll let me know?" She could afford things, the ill-put together blonde. She kept all the money she earned after the hooch, and she had no bills. Her life was dollars tucked into drawers and boxes, and perhaps one day she'd use them. Perhaps someday, she'd have a life. But today was not that someday, and she watched as he pulled the bottle from the intricate display, lattice and care, and the bottle was beautiful.
She smelled nothing, but it wasn't for her, and perhaps that was why. Perhaps it would come alive when she gave it to the nice stranger that had given her a ride home recently. Evie, and Sparrow remembered the other woman's smile like something memorable. Not memory. It wasn't memory, but it was a thing apart, a thing special.
She took the bottle with very careful fingers, and she turned it and turned it between those evening-glove fingertips. "It's perfect." She handed it back carefully. "I want it. I'd like it delivered too, if you can. I think presents are nicer when they come as surprises."
The ringleted blonde, she wasn't sure if anyone had ever surprised her in her life, but she wanted to believe they had, and she wanted to believe she'd lit up like lights on Christmas bowers. Perhaps someone had given her a pretty bottle once, much like this one, and she smiled at the newly crafted memory, even as it yellowed and faded in the barren landscape of her mind. "It's going to Evelyn Williams. She teaches at the local school."