Acerbi's Antiques [Open]

Early morning for Mildred Bagley-Aldaine translated to 'evening', and so she walked the urban paths, slightly hungry for 'breakfast'. It was a thirst that never really went away, and at this point it was easy to ignore. Soon enough, however, she'd be forced to eat again, or give up her good looks... Among other things.

There was always something to do in New York. Something to see, someone to talk to, somewhere to get yelled at for existing, you named it, it was just around the corner. Literally millions of people were within your reach at any point, each with different back stories, hopes, dreams, and tastes (along with their own taste, you know, the kind you felt on your tongue). None of this explained why she was so bored. She'd thought for sure when she'd crossed the oceans all that time ago, headed for the explosive new territories west, that she'd never be bored again. Sure, there were still things she liked to do, but man...

Her mental whining was a luxury that she loved to drown herself in.

Today, her misanthropic hopscotch through her new 'hometown' led her down alleys she'd never seen before. Alleys were like people. They all seemed the same, or at least fell into a few different categories, but when you really studied them, the little differences between each one really came to light. She crushed the occasional cigarette butt underfoot, sidestepped little concrete half-stoops, but nothing caught her interest whatsoever.

On this particular excusion, she wore an outfit similar to a school uniform, though closer inspection would show that it was much nicer, and didn't belong to any of the local public schools. It was uniform-like simply because of the combination: long-sleeved and thick blazer to protect from the cold, skirt to keep up the all-important appearance, thick tights, and shoes. To the untrained (read: Sleeper) eye, if they chose to look at her at all, they would see a sixteen year old student meandering home via detours. Anyone with certain skills would immediately see what she truly was, but it wasn't really a stretch: she looked the same, only closer to fourteen, maybe a petite fifteen. Who could tell with teenage girls these days, right? Those skirts...

She had exited her series of alleys and ended up on some little side-roads when she came across something that sparked her interest, however little the flame was that it caused. Anything was better than nothing, and so she stepped in with hardly a real glance at the outside.

"Hello," she said softly as she glanced around inside.

Impressive. Customer service, even in the evening, and prompt at that. Not bad, either, she thought briefly as she looked her host over before she moved her thoughts to other things. It was an antique store, obviously, and here was where it got fun. The exciting part about entering random places was trying to come up with a reason afterwards. Why in the world would a schoolgirl want to shop at an antique store? Could she be looking for something? A gift for herself of some sort? No, a birthday present.

Her thoughts lingered on perhaps asking if he had any bibles. This appealed to her from the simple humor in the very idea: asking for something as common as a bible at an antique store? That would cause some sort of upset, right? Hilarious. There was always the risk, however, of him bringing out a bible, and... Well, let's leave it at that. She didn't want to risk it. She didn't grow to the ripe old age of six hundo-whatevs by being careless. She settled on the birthday present, perhaps for.. a father. Sure, a father.

Her face darkened for a moment as she thought about the R-word, but hey, real emotion made for real stories.

"I'm looking for a birthday present," she started, sounding like an unsure yet snobby teenage girl. "For my fa.. My dad." She looked around the establishment again, eyeing one thing or another without really looking. This was her main mistake, something she probably wouldn't realize until later. If she looked hard enough, maybe, just maybe, she would've seen something worth seeing... But that was how things went.

"He likes old stuff."

She glanced at the cat, then looked away quickly. She was no animal-hater, not really. She liked cats, and hamsters, and birds. They just didn't seem to like her, and she had an idea of just why that was.

She crinkled her nose just a little bit as she sort-of looked around, trying her best to appear uninterested and ignorant. In truth, to her, this was hilarious. If this was any average, Sleeper-owned antique shop, she was probably older than everything in here, and more interesting to boot. As it was, she was searching for anything expensive, something out of the price-range of a teenage girl. Her eyes stopped on a cabinet of some sort, one that looked harmless enough and in the corner. She was about to ask about it when the cat she'd noticed earlier pressed its claws into her leg.

It was a sharp pain, but a small one. She looked down to look at the damage. Really, she was more worried about the leggings. She didn't hold any particular sentimental value in them, but cabinets be damned if she was going to walk home with torn up tights like some wanna-be Ke$ha.

She leaned down, making to pet the cat, but really attempting to push it away from herself in one movement. She patted her on the head, still not saying anything to her. After all, teenagers ignored cats. Unless they were the kind that sat at home on the computer, and obviously, she was not one of those right now.

She returned to the matter at hand, a little unhappy about her tights situation.

"What about that cabinet thing?" She asked, pointing towards the antique she had noticed earlier. "Is that a lot?"

She nodded slowly, like she understood. She understood well enough, really, but there was a part to play. Delivery was definitely a bitch in this city, unless it was on bike or whatever. Either way, she never had things just delivered to her personal living quarters, so it didn't really concern her. Either way, it was definitely a nice cabinet. She could imagine it in the corner of her bedroom, perhaps. Really, though, it was a shame to waste it on an apartment. The thing belonged in a house, at least, if not a mansion. She supposed it didn't really matter, considering it was all pretend, but it wasn't like she couldn't afford it.

This was fun.

"Ooookay," she said, as if she was trying to sound unimpressed with the price. "Do you have, like, golf clubs?" It was an innocent question, really. She'd seen TV Shows where the Father Figure was often seen being made fun of for his golf clubs, which were called 'Antiques'. Maybe it was an offensive stereotype, maybe it wasn't. "Or maybe, um.." Genuinely, she paused to think. She was starting to run out of things a girl would think her father was interested in. The more she thought, the more chances she had to look around. She made a note to herself. After whatever happened tonight, she'd try and make an actual purchase here at some point. It was only fair, and besides, a few of the things here were genuinely interesting. Her eyes landed on the cat again, and a light turned on somewhere above her head. "Is your cat for sale?"

There was a hint of genuine disappointment when he said the cat wasn't for sale. It was obvious, really. As far as she could tell, she was as much a part of the store as he was. It was cute. A part of her wished for something like it, but pets were gone much too fast for her taste. In the big picture, it was like a blink of an eye, the lifespan of the average housecat. Still, she needed to stay true to the character she was building. This was good practice.

"I guess he would probably like a kitten, anyway," she said, a complaint barely hidden underneath her words. "But books are boring. My dad doesn't read books. He says books read him." She nodded like it was sage advice, but honestly, she had no idea what it meant. She was freestyling here, after all. "What kind of weapons do you have? Do you have a kitchen knife set?" She scooted closer to the man as she dug in her pocket. As a rule, she didn't carry much more than cash to get her around or into most places. A checkbook was out of the question. She had a credit card, too -- probably the most modern thing she owned, besides the awkward, down-the-nose look she was trying to give Varnock -- but that was only for emergencies.

"Hey, kitty," she added as an afterthought, her voice thick like honey, flowery like a spray of febreze in your face: enough to make you feel a little sick. She smiled up at the cat on the shelf, hints of mischief dancing in her eyes... whatever that looked like.

She wondered briefly if this guy had put any thought into just what he was doing. Sure, he may have had perfectly pure intentions, but to any outsider, he was still a male, older than her, inviting her alone into a mysterious, dark back room. To top that she looked like a god damn schoolgirl. What would some random passerby think? It was interesting (to her, at least) that that was the main thought, not an actual fear of the guy being a pervert instead of being seen as one. She supposed it just kind of came with the terrority, though. She wasn't too threatened when it came to her integrity or virginity or whatever. She could take care of herself.

Besides, he seemed harmless enough.

Still, she had to play the part. The show, it must go on! C'est la vie.

"Can you just bring something out?" She asked, a bit of a whine in her voice. "I don't wanna go back there." As to the type of knife set... She didn't know. It was seriously a throw away option, and she found herself caught in it. "I want, I mean, he wants, some for everyday."

To be honest, she was getting bored of the act. She was very patient, normally, but right now... Something was itching at her, about this store, about this man, about that cat.

Her nose sniffled.

Maybe it was allergies.

"Do you take credit cards?"

The cat made a sound, which was either probably a death cry or some sort of laughter. Mildred, personally, had never learned Cat, so she wasn't quite sure, but she eyed it with some concern anyway. If he came out here and the cat was like, throwing up everywhere or whatever it was that house cats did, he'd probably blame her for it. Mildred was many things, but a cat torturer she was not. Thankfully, he was pretty quick in his return and presented her with two knife sets. Both were nice, she had to admit. They were much prettier to look at than the psuedo-set that she had at home, one member of which she had tucked, folded, into the back of the waistband of her skirt. Still, these were 'Antiques'. It would have been a shame to get them dirty, and she would've felt guilt... but like a crow, she felt attracted to the beauty.

Stifling a kaw of want, she nibbled at the inside of her lip as he told her about the credit card situation. Well, at least he would take it. Still, did she want to use the card? She supposed it depended on how much... Her thoughts drifted once more to her own 'father figure', the one that she most definitely was not buying a present for. It wouldn't be too big of a deal, she was sure.

She sighed a little before looking up at him, finally honest.

"How much?" A delicate finger pointed towards the European set.