Re: antique store: louis/claire
Claire was too busy to notice the way he flickered out, but she felt it. A momentary imbalance in the weight of the universe. It had been too long since she had been able to sense, and she almost missed the strange wave. The blood in her veins went back millennia, but that flash felt even older, aeons beyond comprehension.
If it didn't come from her, or her spear, there was only one logical source. He looked so kind with those blond curls and blue eyes. Gentle even, if going on first impressions. Claire didn't have time to register the strange sensation before it was gone. The warning was there, though, tucked into the back of her brain. Hackles were raised, a prickling of hair at the base of her neck, but the generous offer he gave to her caused her even more alarm.
"What?" Of course it was hers, but how would he know? He had to have felt something, too. Perhaps he was sensitive to certain supernatural vibrations, as she knew some people felt around her. It would only make sense that way. "No," she shook her head, "You're running a business." The spear tucked into the crook of her elbow and the iron base rested on the toe of her boot, as Claire patted into her pockets to find cash. She counted the bills quickly, before folding them in half to offer them to him from between index and middle fingers, "That's nine-hundred dollars. Please." Her grey eyes softened and she placed the money onto the display case, "If not for the spear, then consider it a donation." Her smile was light, and the young woman obviously cared little for money.
It was a compulsion, that pull to remove her gloves. Claire was very careful to keep herself covered at all times in the presence of people, but she could not stop herself from pulling the worn knit off of her fingers. She had to touch it, to run palm over that wood which ran warm as though it pulsed with a life of its own. "Tu domum," she whispered, 'you are home', just barely audible, and Claire was quite unaware she was speaking in Latin. Her fingers wrapped around dark polished wood, flesh to grain, and the flat of the silver blade pressed to her forehead while her eyes shut in silent prayer.
"Thank you," she said aloud, though whether the gratitude was to the man standing before her or another entity entirely was fuzzy at best.