Trev Scabior sold his scruples for a galleon. (opportunist) wrote in wished,
"Not quite," he shoved the watch back in it's pocket and watched her filch the statue. "I'm far from being that desperate," he continued walking around the room and eyeing a painting over the fireplace. He tilted his head this way and that while he considered whether it was possibly worth anything.
It really was a nice place. Trevor started wandering around the rest of the place, glancing into the kitchen and dining room before mounting the stairs to inspect the bedrooms. "S'nice place," he yelled down, comparing it mentally to his tiny, cramped flat. Maybe he'd take this opportunity to move up in the world. It wasn't like the fucker had any family to come and claim the place.