antique store: louis/claire
The shop was quiet on this particular day, middle of the week and empty of visitors from the capital. On days like these, sometimes the only people who came through the store were little old ladies window shopping and teenagers bored after school and messing with the delicate typewriters (it didn't matter how many signs you put on them that said 'DO NOT TOUCH,' they still hammered cheerfully away on them, gumming up the keys so badly that he'd taken two to a machinist in the next county just this month).
He didn't mind the quiet between visitors great and small. He read, usually. It was his store, wasn't it? It was a strange luxury to read on the job, and a few years ago, this quiet, this settled hum, it would have driven him mad as birds, but it felt like the right time for this. Anyway, there was always something to do if he was in the mood to be busy, as he had been that morning, rearranging displays and digging artifacts out from under the ramshackle piles in the back room to price and place. He'd worked to earn his time with Swinburne's dark ladies and poorly disguised kinks. It wasn't a romance novel for this bored clerk, but it wasn't that far off, not in theme, anyway. 50 Shades of Grey, Dolores would eat your heart out.
When the next shopper walked in, he set the book down flat on the glass case, though he didn't get up. "Hello." He didn't trouble people as they looked unless they asked questions. No one liked to be stalked through a store, and one of the place's few modern conveniences was a decent set of security cameras and a monitor to watch them on under the display counter.
He didn't expect her to hustle back quite so quickly, and certainly not so out of breath. "Spear?" He looked back in the direction she'd come from.
Ah, there it was. The really beautiful one, high on the wall in a display of armaments including swords, scimitars and pistols. Amongst this motley crew the spear was the finest, gleaming brightly though he'd never taken it down for a polish. It seemed to repel dust. People looked at it sometimes, but no one had ever mentioned it before, or asked its price, not even the weapons collectors who passed through. He hadn't given it a second thought until this girl appeared in front of him in her plaid Doc Martens, practically panting to touch it.
He paused for just a moment. "It's for sale. Of course. Give me just a moment, I'll pull it down for you."
He stood from behind the counter and picked up a short step stool along the way, walking around the long glass case. He was tall, but not tall enough. The stool gave him the extra two feet to reach the thing and lift it carefully from his supports.
He stepped down and closed the distance between them, holding the spear across both his palms, offering it out to her.
It was...warm, a little. That was odd. He'd intended to follow typical procedure, to set it flat on the case so she could look at it before she touched. Somehow that felt wrong, though. She had to hold it, didn't she? For whatever reason, she had to. "If you like it," he said, "We can discuss price."