2017.04.10: Tempered or Annealed?

Tempered or Annealed?
Tavia meets Dmitri Glass - Pushes Buttons
IC Date	April 10th, 2017
IC Time	Late Afternoon
Players	Tavia, Dmitri Glass
Location	Glass House Pawn Brokers

Tavia steps into the pawn shop, or maybe it was an antique shop? The main room was oddly stocked. Piles of items were intermittently lit by glowing lamp light. The sun from outside was blacked out by curtains. Tavia wrinkled her nose a bit as she stepped through the make-shift aisles. She idly examines random trinkets, picking up a random item, then setting it down. It was stuffy in here. She sneezes.

Behind the counter, Dmitri sips idly at a cup of tea. It may be a little warmer in here than most might prefer, but at least it's clean. He makes a meticulous point of that, even. The ringing of the bell gets him to lift dawn colored eyes from the morning's paper, and he watches casually as the young woman makes her way through his aisles. It an odd organizational system that he has, but to him it makes sense, and it keeps things in good condition if not the most orderly. "Afternoon," He offers in an accent that is distinctly English, Scouse to be more specific, "Something I can help you with, lass?"

Blinking rapidly to clear the sensation away from the sneeze, Tavia gazes over toward the counter and the man behind it. She offers a friendly smile as she zig-zags her way in his general direction. Her eyes go back to gazing at the random interesting items as she passes them, though she responds with "Well... perhaps." She answers. It wasn't a very informative answer. Vague, really. Her voice holds an east-coast tinge to it, but it's subtle. When she finally reaches the counter, Tavia offers him yet another smile. "I'm doing some research." She finally admits.

One eyebrow inches upward from a rosegold eye at that vague answer. He doesn't push, though. No, she'll answer, or not, in time. Just sips at his tea some more, glances back at his paper, hums as a form of answer. When she crosses to the counter, however, his demeanor changes some. Slowly, deliberately, he folds his paper. No words as he does so, just the habit of a meticulously organized man, setting it aside. Only then does his dawn colored gaze fall to her again, and one corner of his mouth ticks up in a lopsided smirk that has a terrible habit of trending toward charming. "Is that so, lass?" He says, leaning forward on his counter to consider her, "What sort of research?"

There's a moment where Tavia's brown eyes flick down the man's form, assessing him in a way that was more serious than play. The moment was gone in a blink, her easy smile returning as she places a forearm flat on his counter and leans her side against it. "I can't give too much away. Might screw the results, ya' know?" She tilts her head and rubs the back of her neck, eyes drifting once more about his shop before she forms another question. "Where do you get most of this stuff?" This particular question almost seems aloof, as if it were just filler.

"Estate sales." Dmitri answers, honey sweet voice suddenly dry. "And I did not ask to be your research subject. So you can either tell me what you are up to in my place of business, or you can leave." It seems the shopkeep does not play with people prying into his business without his express consent. As the tone of his voice shifts, so does his posture, sitting up straighter behind the counter. It's not a threat, but he is a good bit more imposing, especially with how his voice has a tendency to carry his emotions in a palpable manner.

A single eyebrow raises slightly, her gaze shifting back to him. She canted her head to the side, her short hair falling loosely about her face, framing it. Perhaps his reaction told her something. Maybe not. "No. You didn't. That's fair." She admits. She sucks in a breath, then lets it out slow, blowing her hair with her breath. "I'm not trying to pry into your business. I'm actually more interested in the business of those who typically bring 'acquired' items to shops like yours." Her eyes drop now. Clearly, she didn't like feeling as if she has offended him.

"'Acquired' items?" Dmitri says, raising a brow again, "Lass, are you asking if I'm a fence?" There's a scoff along with it. He's settled down a little, but those feathers are definitely still ruffled. "Let me guess," He says, looking her up and then down in a slow, investigating fashion, "You think you can save the world, find the seeds of crime in the city and pull them out at the root." He shakes his head. "Most of the items, as I said, are from estate sales. The others are legitimate relinquishes. I've put in my papers a thousand times." Seems he thinks she's just someone new to the precinct. "And you can tell the chief that sniffing around like this is nothing more than a headache for the both of us."

A small smirk appears as Tavia scratches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes a moment and doing her best to not over react to his accusations and bluster. "I'm just trying to understand something that intrigues me." She fishes around in her pocket for a moment, then she produces a UC ID Card and shows it to him. "I'm a student at the local college. I'm studying economics. In particular, the economics involved with low income populations. They tend to be a creative bunch." She slips the ID card back into her pocket. "I don't mean to offend you." She then pushes off his counter and casually walks toward the coffee table and comfy looking seating. "I don't think I can save the world, but I can learn how to help it."

Glancing down at the ID, Dmitri's eyes narrow at it. A moment later, though, he relaxes, leaning back away from the counter. "Banana Slugs saving the world." He mutters. He reaches into his pocket, acquiring a cigarette and a lighter, lighting up. "Alright then, I still don't think I'll be of much help to you." Dmitri says with a shake of his head, "Most of my clients are actually fairly well off. Those that aren't, I don't even know what you'd want to know. They come in, put something on pawn, pay it off, and take it home a few months later."

Flopping down into one of the chairs, Tavia wiggles a bit to get comfortable. Positionally, she had a direct line of sight with him from where she sat. She crosses one leg over the other and rests both arms on the respective arm rests. Her foot bounces lightly.

"You can start by being a bit more friendly." She suggests. "I'm not here to hurt your business." She then pulls out a small notebook. The kind you'd likely find in the dollar section of a wallgreens. "... and I am a Triton." She comments under her breath. Flipping through a few scribbled on pages, she finds a blank one and pulls out a small pen from the rings of the notebook.

"Do you know any of them by name? Or is all very informal?" She asks, her voice appealingly sweet, reporter-esque mode kicking in.

Dmitri smirks. Well, that was a point in her favor at least. "If you think I'm giving you those names, you've lost your mind." He says, however, a laugh on his lips that is almost melodic. "Don't shit me, little girl. You might be from the school, but you've given me zero reason to trust you. And zero reason for me to destroy my clients' confidentiality." Shaking his head, he takes another drag of his cigarette. "If you were in such a tight financial situation that you had to come /here/ for a loan, that you put up one of your family heirlooms as collateral, do you think you'd want some student sticking her nose in your business? I promise you, the answer is no, you wouldn't."

Tavia Contorts her mouth a little, chewing the inside of her cheek as she considers his words. Her eyes flick down to the paper as she puts pen to it. "So you're loyal to those you work with..." She trails off as she keeps pushing the pen along. "... I like that about you... Mr...?" She pauses and glances up, eyesbrows raising as she waits for his response.

"Glass. Dmitri Glass." He answers. That is no secret. Hell, the place is called Glass House Pawn Brokers for a reason. Even still, she gets a long appraisal. "You know, for a UC Student, you sure sound like a cop." Maybe she'd shown school ID, maybe she had enough sense to not fall for his mascot bait, but he still doesn't trust this at all. Especially because he /knows/ what interrogation speech sounds like. He knows it like the back of his hand.

Tavia rolls her eyes, her pen going back to work. What could she possibly be writing? It wasn't like he was giving her a whole lot. "You sure are mistrusting. Makes one wonder." She peers about once more, as if looking at the same items with a new perspective. The pen ends up in her mouth as she chews on it. "But you haven't kicked me out yet." Her brown eyes flick over to him and she smiles once more. "What are you hiding?" She says, though this question sounds rhetorical. She waves it off as if to dismiss it from being spoken. She goes back to her little pad, pen working vigorously.

Now it's his turn to roll his eyes. "You really don't understand the concept of confidentiality or privacy, do you?" He says with another shake of his head. "And you're right, I haven't. But you're really making it tempting." There's a huff, and he takes another drag of his cigarette. "Besides, with the temperature of this administration, can you really blame a foreigner for not being thrilled about cops?"

With a genuine smile, Tavia can't help but laugh. The whole thing had gone so differently than she anticipated. Her eyes seemed alight with mirth. "I like you Mr. Glass." She puts the pen back in the rings of the pad, then carefully tears out the page she had been working on. Pushing herself up out of the chair, which was a little bit of a task!, she tucks away the pad as she walks over to him once more. The ripped out piece of paper is set casually on his counter.

What's on it --- > https://tinyurl.com/l6x7htv

"What does it take to earn your trust?" she asks.

Near the counter, Dmitri and Tavia stand speaking. She has just placed a piece of paper on the counter, and in the next moment, Dmitri takes it up to inspect. He laughs, cutting himself short with a drag of the cigarette in his hand. "Ah, lass," He says, "You just keen on making people squirm, then?" And he's a lot more amicable suddenly. Shrugging, he turns toward the kettle behind the counter, setting it to boil. "It's a process. Maybe you'll manage it, maybe you won't. I'm not a combination lock. Tea?"

"Wouldn't it be boring otherwise?" She asks, smirking. "Maybe I just like to push peoples buttons. Helps me learn about them. I'm new in town." She adds that last bit, doing her part to be more open with the man behind the counter. The smell of his cigarette calls to her. "You know, I'll pass on the tea... but a cigarette would be nice." It is not lost on her that he drinks tea. It's almost comical to her now, as she thinks about his accent and draws connections in her mind. "Or are you going to offer me biscuits too?" She puts a hand on her hip, clearly pleased with herself.

Dmitri laughs a little. Even still, he turns around and gets into a drawer under the kettle. A small packet of biscuits is procured and placed upon the counter as way of answer. Honestly, he might be a bit prickly on first meeting, but the guy keeps tea and biscuits in his shop - How bad could he be? A pack of cigarettes is taken from his pocket then, though. A black pack, Dunhill written in brassy gold across its front. Taking one out, he offers it out to her, slips the pack back where it belongs, and returns with his lighter, which is lit and offered out to use. "Much of life is boring. Some people change that by toying with others, others change it by surrounding themselves with stories." He nods toward the shop. "I'm more of the latter."

Taking the offered cigarette, she sticks it between her lips, then leans forward to light it from the flame of his lighter. She draws on it lightly as she pulls away. Her middle and ring finger of her left dominant hand coming up to remove the now lit cigarette. She blows out the smoke courteously off to the side and once more her gaze drifts about. "Thanks." She says, her light smile still readily apparent on her visage.

"It's not always so cut and dry though." She adds, before taking another drag. Rubbing the back of her neck once more, she stretches slightly and sighs again. "I better be going." Her voice is almost bitter at the prospect of leaving. "Mind if I come back another time?" Her brown eyes drift over to look into his. It seemed like she got her answers from visual cues just as easily as verbal ones.