ιѕαвєℓα (rivaini) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-11-16 14:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, isabela, raistlin majere |
Who: Raistlin & Isabela
What: Wandering into Bela's place of 'employment'
When: Monday
Where: The black market dealer's book den
Rating/Warnings: Mostly low - a crude quip here and there
Status: Complete
Isabela didn’t really advertise her space, like most business owners would - it was a bookshoppe, certainly, but not one of those paperback emporiums or chain places dotted throughout the country. Instead, it was exactly what any bibliophile would love and dreamed of owning - a gem that gave off the aroma of old books and the promise that customers would discover some long sought-after treasure hidden in the stacks. Shelves upon shelves of titles, some of them dusty, and loads of corners to tuck up into and read something good - espresso in hand - if you wanted. People wandered in and out, though the shoppe itself was a cover for the shadier aspects of her business. And Isabela had her steady clients, people who counted on her to utilise her contacts - a whole network of agents with her at the head, puppeting everything - to find them the very best in rare titles. There was a whole underworld of black market book thieves, and she was their Queen. It was a very cosy, exclusive world - and she, self-taught and now a slippery expert, loved it. She had a few leads on manuscripts and maps she was working on - not her usual request, but different than finding something by Aristotle, for example - but was taking care of some busy work first. On a ladder, organising a high-up shelf, that was when she heard the door open. Her appointments were scattered today, but someone could have always arrived early. “Be right there!” she called over her shoulder, managing an intricate balancing act. Raistlin had found the little book store quite on accident. The past several days had been spent wandering around the little section of Orange County he and Tasslehoff were now calling home, getting lost on purpose and then trying to find his way home again. It was a way to pass the time. Raistlin had only been at Stark Industries for a few short weeks and he was still a relatively unimportant low-level cog in a project. Unknown and easily overlooked by the company’s important players. That wouldn’t last long, if Raistlin had anything to say about it. Stark was his ticket to the recognition he knew he deserved. In the interim, however, he had to find ways to spend his down time. Books had always been faithful and true where people had not been. The bookshoppe had beckoned to him as he’d passed it and he’d answered the call. He glanced up at the woman on the ladder as he entered. England was in her melodic voice, which seemed somehow fitting for this dusty little treasure of a store. “Thanks,” he answered in his lower quieter voice, although he would have been fine to have just been left alone to browse the books he was now surrounded by. Old books, many of them antiques by appearance. Probably rare first editions. A hipster’s paradise? No. There was little in the way of pretension in this place. This store was for the true bibliophile. Feet touched the ground, and Isabella straightened the short jacket she was wearing over her black turtleneck - more demure than her usual look, but she was attempting professionalism; still, the skinny jeans hugged everything nicely in a form-fitting way, and tall black boots climbed just above her knees, boosting her height a little. Her hair hung in a ponytail over her shoulder, and besides the scent of old books she also wore her Indian shamama attar - the perfume suited her, it was mysterious and ever-changing, hints of hyacinths and honey. She’d been thinking about putting a tea bar in the place, or something, but would have to see how that went - if it attracted more people than her usual clients, then perhaps it was something to look into. Though speaking of wanderers who found their way in... New customer. She’d put her best face forward. “Let me know if I can....oh, wait a moment,” a bat of those long lashes, “...I know you, don’t I? Didn’t I offer to ride you to cure your insomnia?” Because, honestly, that was something she’d do. Who started with a potential customer that way?. Raistlin looked up at the raven haired woman, his pale eyes blinking once. His brows furrowed under short auburn hair for just a moment. The woman from the network. What was her name? Isabela? Yes, that sounded right. “Yes, I think that was me,” he told her flatly. “You work here?” He had to admit, this was not the place he expected to find the forward-but-not woman. Frankly, he hadn’t expected to find her at all. That would have implied that he’d been looking, and Raistlin had no time for that. Like he had told Tas a few weeks ago. He wasn’t here to make friends...or...whatever it was Isabela wanted from him. He looked like he needed to loosen up a little - but good thing for the virile insomniac with the crazy cat lady for a neighbour, Isabela was great at getting people to loosen up. It was a special talent of hers. “You’re Raistlin,” she said, but it wasn’t a question. A definitive statement, because oh, she was so pleased that he’d wandered in here. A hand went to her hip, which cocked out to the side a bit as she studied him. “I don’t just work here, I own the place. So welcome to my little book nook. Can I interest you in something spicy, perhaps?” Maybe a finely-crafted romance novel or two. Something with heaving bosoms and turgid manswords. No one could resist those beauties. “Yes,” Raistlin confirmed his identity to her carefully. He recognized how she was looking at him: sizing him up. It was a look he’d gotten for as long as he could remember. He was used to it, but he didn’t particularly like it. It always made him self-conscious about how thin he was. He had the lean body of a runner, although not ever having actually done much running (aside from what he was made to do in school, during gym class, or trying to get away from a tormentor between classes), he came across as being lanky, even looking a little uncoordinated with long arms and legs. He was also aware of how naturally pale he was, which made his hair even redder than it probably was genetically. Are you really Caramon’s twin brother? His peers would ask, even the ones who had known the twins for years, he’s so much bigger than you. Aren’t twins supposed to be, like, identical? “Your definition of spicy and mine are probably different when it comes to books,” he told her. He glanced down at the book that had found its way into his hands. He was an educated chemist, but his interests didn’t lay solely on the periodic table and test tubes. He had something of a fascination with obscure history. Everything ranging from cults to odd myths and legends to different interpretations of hell and the afterlife. The book he currently was holding was a historical documentation of the “monsters” of Victorian England, what people today would consider freaks. He frowned slightly, quickly closing the book. Then frowned a little more. What did he care if Isabela caught him with such a book. She was the one selling it! He lifted it for her to see the title. “You got anything else like this?” Rest assured, Bela liked what she saw. He had a pretty face, this man. Sort of sharp and angular, all hard edges and icicles, but it worked well for him. Hence why she gave him a wink, and beckoned with a curled index finger to get Raistlin to follow. “I think I’ve got just what you’re looking for,” she purred, and turned - at the very least, it’d give him a pleasant ass to watch move, since her rump looked great in these jeans. Any man could appreciate the view - well, unless he was gay. That was possible. Even so, she had a glorious ass regardless, thank you. To one of the out-of-the-way bookshelves, in a corner, and she stretched up to browse the titles. “Hmm....Teach Your Wife to be a Widow, The Strange Story of False Teeth, An Intellectual History of Cannibalism...aha!” Triumphantly, she pulled free a couple of old, weathered books. Very old, and quite out of print. “From the year 1579,” she said. “The most complete work on Demonology ever published - it’s in French, but I could get it translated for you, perhaps. Unless you know a bit of the language of love. Then this is a witch hunting manual from the 1600s, and another is a one-of-a-kind dissertation on incubus possession, the signs and remedies. Anything tickle your fancy, sweetling?” Raistlin may not have gotten along with people as a general rule, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate an attractive woman and Isabela was a dark raven-haired beauty with a silver tongue and attitude to spare. So, yeah, his eyes did wander down to watch her rump in those tight jeans as she lead him through her store. What? He was only human. He did make sure his eyes were up and on her face when she turned towards him again. His eye then moved towards the bookshelf as she read off the titles. Antique books about the odd and obscure, it was exactly what he was looking for. You couldn’t get books like that where he grew up. To even ask about them would have gotten him weird looks as though he were crazy. Raistlin knew a bit of French, probably not enough to translate the book on demonology, but it would be worth learning the language to translate it himself. The dissertation on incubus possession was interesting too as did the witch hunting manual. It was something of a delightful dilemma. He glanced at Isabela with a wry kind of grin. “Sweetling?” He repeated then gave a vague sort of shrug. “They all do,” he said. “May I see the witch hunting manual?” “Of course...” Isabela carefully set down the others, to show off the ‘manual,’ (usually manuals conjured images of pamphlets or something) which was a thick tome all on its own - oh, how she enjoyed a thick... Well, anyway. “It’s over a thousand pages,” she started. “Original full calf binding, which is rare for a book of this size, but with slight damage at the hinges and spine. However, it’s very strong.” Her golden eyes flicked over him with interest, “It’s also the definitive witch hunting manual of the 1700s. Has everything from demonology to descriptions of torture techniques used to get confessions - gives you a bit of a shiver, doesn’t it?” Gently, she passed over the book so Raistlin could examine it on his own. “Quite heavy, but I think you can handle it.” The book felt heavy in Raistlin’s hands, but a good kind of heavy. A heavy full of history of the dark and the macabre. “It certainly can,” he answered her. A shiver had definitely worked its way down his spine to hold such an old book, a literal piece of history. His long fingers ran over the cover of the book, feeling the smooth soft cover, toughened and weathered slightly with age. Whoever had this book previously had taken good care of it despite the damage that Isabela had mentioned. However, Isabela was the expert, Raistlin was more interested in what was inside the book. The binding creaked softly when he opened it. The smell of an old book was unique and brought something of a faint smile to his face. He braced his elbow against his hip so he could balance the book on his arm as he looked through it’s pages. It really was a manual, containing everything Isabela had said, complete with hand drawn examples of demons and torture methods along with plates depicting a “successful” inquisition. The book really was a treasure tucked far away in a dusty corner of a non-descript shop. He wanted it. Pale blue eyes looked up from the pages and narrowed in on the beauty next to him. “How much?” He asked. The book was probably worth more than what a newly graduated chemist had squirreled away for a rainy day, but he had to know. Now that was the question, wasn’t it? Isabela hummed, tapping her lower lip. She thought back to where her contacts had found this beauty - the book was from a library in a rather large university, the ID number assigned to it artistically hacked out in order to prevent tracking. That was actually standard procedure, in the rare book black market underworld. Sometimes the card catalogue in the library was even destroyed as well, to provide extra cover-ups. Truthfully, she could get a pretty penny for the book Raistlin was holding - but then she considered his living situation. In a flat, sharing the space, crazy cat lady, not in the nicest area? He’d asked her for knife-wielding tips, for fuck’s sakes. “Two hundred,” she said, and that was well below what she should have asked for it. Not that it meant anything. She wasn’t going soft. No, she’d just make up the difference later on, with a few of her usual clients who could afford the prices. “And maybe you could take me out for dinner sometime,” she added, stepping closer, with a wry grin of her own. Raistlin was staring at her. Was she fucking with him? She had to be. Surely she knew how much the book was actually worth. Raistlin had no idea about antiques or what into acquiring old rare books, but even he knew that price was way too low. “Two hundred,” he repeated skeptically. “As in two hundred dollars?” If she was being serious (please let her be serious) then he’d be an idiot to turn down such a slashed price. Raistlin had been so surprised at her asking price that it wasn’t until he saw that wry suggestible smile on her lips that he realized the contingency of the price. It was kind of a weird contingency. He raised a brow. “Two hundred dollars and dinner,” he said thoughtfully. He looked down at the book in his hands. His eyes then traveled from the book towards Isabela, or rather how close her body was to his. He could smell her perfume, flowery and exotic. It was kind of nice. Raistlin actually may have even liked it. “Alright,” he said as he closed the book. He didn’t step away as he looked up at her. “That sounds fair. I don’t know a lot of places around here, yet. Where do you want to go for dinner?” “Perfect. Come on up here with me, and I’ll box that for you,” Bela offered, brushing past him, leading the way to the front counter. You couldn’t just walk out with an old, priceless book exposed to the elements, after all - she had a proper box for a lovely artifact such as that, and wouldn’t simply plop it into a plastic bag. Rude. “As for dinner, let’s see...” It was a good distraction from thinking about how she should have charged more for this witch-hunting gem, but alas. Discount for grumpy adorableness, or some such. Now she was pretty certain she’d snagged another regular customer too - he’d be back. “I know of this quaint Italian trattoria I’ve been meaning to try. You know - gelato, loads of carbs, things like that. Easily able to be burned off if you want to get naked afterward,” she winked, rummaging behind the counter. Hey, offer was there! Raistlin didn’t seem like a ‘get naked’ kind of guy, but a friendly dinner was fine too. Isabela was all for everyone having options and not to mention fun. If Isabela had been looking to make a loyal customer out of Raistlin, she had succeeded. He’d never been in a bookstore like her’s before. There were a couple of small mom-and-pop stores where he’d grown up, one of which had dealt in used books, but not like this. The library at the university he’d attended had a few rare first editions, but nothing that didn’t predate the turn of the last century. Isabela’s store was like a treasure trove to someone like Raistlin. He would be back for those other books as soon as he was able to afford her actual asking price. Plus Raistlin didn’t entirely dislike Isabela. There was a physical attraction, there was no use in attempting to deny it to either himself or to her, if she should happen to ask (although if she happened to look over her shoulder as Raistlin followed her to the front of her store again, she’d likely catch him looking at her ass again). And, attitude and innuendo aside, Isabela came across as being quite intelligent even a little sly. There was something to be said for that too. Raistlin almost didn’t want to hand over the book again as if letting go of it would shatter whatever dream he was having in which he could get a rare antique book for a measly $200 and dinner. Reluctantly, he let her take it back and watched keenly as she put it in a box and wrap up all safe and secure. He glanced up at her as she finished describing the place she wanted him to take her for dinner. “You really do have a one track mind, don’t you,” he said mildly with a quirked brow. It wasn’t exactly a ‘no’, however. “Sort of. Less one-tracked mind, more...” She even wrapped a bit of ribbon around the box, giving the edges a little curly q with a pair of scissors; not that she was a professional gift wrapper by any means, or cared to be, but she enjoyed this dour fellow - he reminded her of someone, even if she couldn’t put her finger on who quite yet. “If I see something I like, I go after it.” But it wasn’t as if she was good at keeping anything, or being kept. No, that just would not do. Made her prickly - the concept of it all too close to reminding her of her days of forced marriage, a form of enslavement. Which apparently she had to experience in her dreams too, albeit in a different time and place. Now the box was all set and pretty. “There you go, sweet thing. Can I interest you in anything else?” Ribbons around packages had always seemed superfluous to Raistlin. The entire idea of even wrapping seemed superfluous. Why wrap something that was only going to be torn open anyway? The ribbon around the box probably wouldn’t even make it back to the apartment. He did not stop Isabela from curling the ribbon, however. He didn’t see the point in doing that either. “I suppose I can respect that.” He told her. He was of the same persuasion, which was part of the reason why he was even here in Orange County. However, why she had taken an interest in him when he’d been barely a blip on anyone’s radar before was something of a puzzle. Isabela was a puzzling woman. As much as he didn’t understand, Raistlin wasn’t necessarily adverse to the idea, however, although he was weary of it. He was terrible at interpersonal relationships, even with his own family. In fact, the other reason why he was in Orange County had been to get away from his own twin brother for a while. Maybe even forever. No, he wasn’t exactly proud of that fact, but it was the truth. Isabela was clearly interested in one thing and it was something of an ego stroke. He didn’t see the harm in going along with her. He could stand to have a little fun now and then. Harmless no-strings-attached fun. He could do without the pet names, though. He paid for the book and took his package, holding it tightly to him again as though he were afraid someone might snatch it away. He spared another look around the store. He’d have liked to get something else, but it was doubtful he’d be able to afford anything. “As much as I’d like, I’m afraid not,” he told her finally as he turned his attention back towards her. “When do you want to do dinner at that Italian place?” Transaction made, money now hers (and Isabela did have quite the fondness for money), the siren casually leaned against the counter on her elbows - here was where she’d give an eyeful of those lovely assets, yet the turtleneck didn’t really lend much of a view. But if Raistlin was lucky, he’d get to see her without a shirt on anyway! Oh, who was she kidding. She would definitely sleep with him. Harmless, no-strings attached fun indeed. Her potential presence in the morning might scare the hell out of that flatmate of his who was high on...life? But no matter. Whenever he wanted a bit of fun, she’d be around. That was what she was good at. Hawke was still the only one she’d legit cuddle with though - but that was because the man freely admitted to liking the act of spooning. “I’m free this weekend if you are,” she said, caressing him with amber-gold eyes. “Friday, maybe? I’m sure I could help you unwind. After a long, hard...week.” Heh. Even if he wanted to, it was hard to ignore Isabela’s “assets” the way she was leaned against the counter. The turtleneck she was wearing may have not shown any actual skin, but like her jeans did to her ass, the turtleneck hugged just enough in all the right places, giving Raistlin a good idea of what was underneath. More of being forward without actually being forward. She had this down to a science. “Yeah, I’m free on Fri-“ wait, Tas had that housewarming party he’d sprung on Raistlin going on that day. He grimaced. “My roommate insisted on having a party on Friday. Posted an open invitation to the network for all his new ‘friends’.” He sighed a little wearily, “and if I don’t show up, I’ll never hear the end of it.” And he had to at least pretend that he was making an effort to adjust, especially since Tas was apparently talking to Caramon every fucking day. “What about Saturday? Would that be alright?” Oh, a housewarming party! How fun! She ought to check the network about that, there could be something juicy there. “So that’s an open invite, then? I’ll be sure to come too,” Isabela promised - and for once derailed from an inappropriate quip about coming, at least for the time being. “But Saturday’s fine for dinner. I’ll message you the address of the place I have in mind.” And this would be delightful. See, wasn’t Raistlin glad he stopped in today? Must have been good karma, paying him back his dues - because he was going to get laid, and well, that was always a good thing, wasn’t it? |