"Jesus wept!" John startles at the sudden interruption to his frankly unhealthy interest in the little bit of magical disaster. The pipes on this kid. He still doesn't know what he's here for, exactly, but he is 100% certain that Dave is involved, by virtue of Zed's apparently spot-on description. Whether it's a good involvement or a bad one is up in the air.
He pulls on a personable smile, that's more cheeky than anything, because thinks he's a lot better at pretending to be a gentleman than he actually is, and tucks his hands into the pockets of his tan trenchcoat. "Sure do, mate. Got any more bits like this one around here?" He's not talking about lamps specifically, but he wants to know if Dave picks up on that, or if he plays dumb about it. (Or if he actually is dumb about it, but all signs point to probably not, at this point.)
Not that any of that is going to get him closer to what he needs, but that's the thing with John: when he doesn't know what to do, he starts throwing shit at the walls until something sticks. It's not the most elegant method, but John is not an elegant man.
He gives the kid a once-over: he's tall. Taller than John by an inch or three, if he had to guess. Skinny, though. Fresh-faced, young and intensely unassuming. He probably got shoved in his locker a fair bit as a lad. There's something about him, though, a bit of mystical survival instinct that prickles along the nape of John's neck and makes the hair there hair stand on end that tells him not to test his luck too hard.
Which, of course, he'll be dutifully ignoring for the duration of the evening. "Nice shoes."
Oh, a foreigner! Not unusual - tourists love to see what Manhattan has to offer. But a quick look over and - yeah, not probable. This guy is here with a purpose. If that purpose is a fancy gift for his girlfriend or hunting the paranormal, well, only a good conversation can tell.
Except Dave sucks at making goood, not nerd conversation. He jumps back when John startles, and rolls his eyes at the shoes comment. There's always something in his life that people will comment on, isn't there? His voice, his awkwardness, now this...
"Thanks. Family tradition."
Well, technically it is, even if it's from a family that existed back in medieval history. After some hesitation, he walks toward John, hands already gesturing like crazy as he explains. Better stick to the not-quite-salesman speech his master taught him, no point in trying to play dumb - he's a terrible, terrible liar. Everyone in his life have told him so.
"We probably do, yeah. Buuut you'll have to be more specific? You want more lamps, or some really old stuff, or things with stories behind them? Some of our buyers like looking for..." He rubs the back of his head, wondering if he should go for it. Oh, to hell with it, it's not like being smooth is his deal. "...authenticity."
Family tradition, eh? The comment all but confirms it for him, since they're here, standing in a shop with at least one genuinely cursed artifact. He glances towards the wildly gesturing hands and-- yep, there it is.
A magical ring. And it's nearly as stylish as the old man shoes.
Arthurian legends are potent stuff, he knows. The only one of Merlin's spells he's ever managed to cast, he'd done drunk off his arse and clumsy, half-convinced it could never work - and it had still managed to make his best mate immune to the more permanent effects of death at least 47 times. Granted, he'd also ruined that mate's life, but he's never needed Merlin's help for that.
But yes, he's definitely sticking around now. Merlinian types tend to be delightfully off their rockers, bunch of walking, talking spectacles: probably because they've lived too goddamned long and gone collectively batty, which is just fine with John. He prefers it to the more boring, stuffy, proper brand of practitioners found in other schools, honestly.
"Stories, eh? That's a way to put it." A beat, and he grins, apparently satisfied with Dave's word choice, "Authentic is what I'm in the market for."
never a problem! and omfg I'm dying at the description of Merlineans
John's eyes fall on his hand and suddenly Dave feels very, very exposed. He quickly puts them in his hoodie pockets, which he realizes is a mistake a second after he's done. Good old Streisand effect - the more you try to hide something, the more attention you draw to it.
Be right back, facepalming at himself. Take the opportunity to admire the ring more if you will, it was made from Excalibur after all.
"What are you here for?" That is the tone of a man giving up, yep. "If this is about the Chrysler building then--"
The "story" he has for John is interrupted when the door slowly opens, only to suddenly slam shut. By its own. One could blame the wind, but with them being who they are and being at the place they are at the moment, they should know better.
There's something different in the air, that's for sure.
"....please, please tell me you did that." Dave's look for John is a mix of accusing and hopeful at the same time. Because if this man didn't do that then there's something there waiting for both of them.
A shake of a big vase, the rustling of a book's pages. Dave doesn't know if keeping his eyes on John or the moving objects, and frankly? He isn't sure what option offers the worst scenario.
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He pulls on a personable smile, that's more cheeky than anything, because thinks he's a lot better at pretending to be a gentleman than he actually is, and tucks his hands into the pockets of his tan trenchcoat. "Sure do, mate. Got any more bits like this one around here?" He's not talking about lamps specifically, but he wants to know if Dave picks up on that, or if he plays dumb about it. (Or if he actually is dumb about it, but all signs point to probably not, at this point.)
Not that any of that is going to get him closer to what he needs, but that's the thing with John: when he doesn't know what to do, he starts throwing shit at the walls until something sticks. It's not the most elegant method, but John is not an elegant man.
He gives the kid a once-over: he's tall. Taller than John by an inch or three, if he had to guess. Skinny, though. Fresh-faced, young and intensely unassuming. He probably got shoved in his locker a fair bit as a lad. There's something about him, though, a bit of mystical survival instinct that prickles along the nape of John's neck and makes the hair there hair stand on end that tells him not to test his luck too hard.
Which, of course, he'll be dutifully ignoring for the duration of the evening. "Nice shoes."
no subject
Except Dave sucks at making goood, not nerd conversation. He jumps back when John startles, and rolls his eyes at the shoes comment. There's always something in his life that people will comment on, isn't there? His voice, his awkwardness, now this...
"Thanks. Family tradition."
Well, technically it is, even if it's from a family that existed back in medieval history. After some hesitation, he walks toward John, hands already gesturing like crazy as he explains. Better stick to the not-quite-salesman speech his master taught him, no point in trying to play dumb - he's a terrible, terrible liar. Everyone in his life have told him so.
"We probably do, yeah. Buuut you'll have to be more specific? You want more lamps, or some really old stuff, or things with stories behind them? Some of our buyers like looking for..." He rubs the back of his head, wondering if he should go for it. Oh, to hell with it, it's not like being smooth is his deal. "...authenticity."
sorry this is so late, holidays got in the way!
A magical ring. And it's nearly as stylish as the old man shoes.
Arthurian legends are potent stuff, he knows. The only one of Merlin's spells he's ever managed to cast, he'd done drunk off his arse and clumsy, half-convinced it could never work - and it had still managed to make his best mate immune to the more permanent effects of death at least 47 times. Granted, he'd also ruined that mate's life, but he's never needed Merlin's help for that.
But yes, he's definitely sticking around now. Merlinian types tend to be delightfully off their rockers, bunch of walking, talking spectacles: probably because they've lived too goddamned long and gone collectively batty, which is just fine with John. He prefers it to the more boring, stuffy, proper brand of practitioners found in other schools, honestly.
"Stories, eh? That's a way to put it." A beat, and he grins, apparently satisfied with Dave's word choice, "Authentic is what I'm in the market for."
never a problem! and omfg I'm dying at the description of Merlineans
Be right back, facepalming at himself. Take the opportunity to admire the ring more if you will, it was made from Excalibur after all.
"What are you here for?" That is the tone of a man giving up, yep. "If this is about the Chrysler building then--"
The "story" he has for John is interrupted when the door slowly opens, only to suddenly slam shut. By its own. One could blame the wind, but with them being who they are and being at the place they are at the moment, they should know better.
There's something different in the air, that's for sure.
"....please, please tell me you did that." Dave's look for John is a mix of accusing and hopeful at the same time. Because if this man didn't do that then there's something there waiting for both of them.
A shake of a big vase, the rustling of a book's pages. Dave doesn't know if keeping his eyes on John or the moving objects, and frankly? He isn't sure what option offers the worst scenario.