Oliver. King. (cyprian) wrote in repose, @ 2015-11-10 19:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, louis donovan, oliver king |
antique store: oliver k & louis d
Who: Oliver King & Louis Donovan
What: First meetings
Where: The shop
When: Morning
Warnings: Language and fits possible, TBD.
His breath was gray in the air and his hands were blue. The tips of his fingers and the ridge of his knuckles, blue and purple. Cimmerian blood, aggravated veins set to shrinking under the skin. He'd had gloves once, but in a fabulously Jude-esque moment, he'd traded them to a girl in return for a smile. He'd forgotten about that until now, now with the freezing blisters of wind biting his nerves. Now, he resented that moment from months before, the days when he'd forgotten he would one day need gloves again. In this moment, he resented his entire life, a life that brought forth a complete and utter ignorance on the importance of gloves.
His hair was damp too, that wasn't compatible with low temperatures. It was nearly noon, and therefore warming since dawn, but it was still in the low 50s as Oliver walked out of the woods and onto the main street. It was his usual route to work, a trail had been paved in the fallen leaves, beaten down by bootheels and becoming docile rot interrupted by the occasional fallen tree branch. The path spit him out onto a sidewalk near the Webster music store, and it was only a short ways from there to the Antique Store.
In one hand, he held the store keys. They were clenched numb and close in his bare fingers. His other held held a bag over his shoulder with a crystal vase inside. The vase sparkled as crystal was supposed to, but it wasn't particularly remarkable. It shined, but was colorless, and therefore lacked significant value to Oliver. He knew that it was real crystal, real white marble, and probably real expensive. He couldn't put a proper price on it, but he figured that some origin and pricing could be configured at the shop. He'd attach a crazy story and a crazier price tag to the vase, and with any luck, he'd sell it within the coming months.
Oliver's spirits were fairly high when he went to unlock the door to the store. But then, he was just a little surprised to realize that the door was unlocked. He really didn't want to believe that he'd been foolish enough to leave the door unlocked, but there seemed to fewer options. He refused to believe that there were any quality lockpicks in town. And if there were? Well, he'd just have to steal the goods back, and it became a fantasy in his head as he walked in grinning. He was cooking an entire spy melodrama up in his head as the door's bell jingled and he moved forward to set the bag with the vase on the near counter.
He was wearing blue. Blue jeans and a robin's egg button down. His lips were even blue from the walk. His eyes would have been blue too if they weren't so busy squinting. The lights were on, and he swore he heard a floorboard creak. There was definitely someone here. With no sense to flee or notify the police, he preferred to boldly step forward and announce himself.
"If you're intent to steal something, I've heard it works best under the cover of nightfall!"