2017.04.11: First Encounter
| First Encounter | |
|---|---|
| Tavia has her first real encounter with the supernatural | |
| IC Date | April 11th, 2017 |
| IC Time | Mid-Afternoon |
| Players | Tavia, Dmitri Glass |
| Location | Glass House Pawn Brokers |
Stepping into the now semi-familiar shop, Tav holds a light smile on her lips. Her eyes peer about, adjusting to the change in lighting and taking in the still interesting stockpile of odds and ends. She imagined that with the appropriate time on her hands, she could waste away a day or two just studying all this stuff. She couldn't help but wonder about the history behind each object. There was a lot of history here.
She doesn't immediately make her way to the counter, instead she sticks her hands in her pockets and strides casually down the first row to her right, skirting the covered windows. She wasn't in any rush.
Today, Dmitri actually isn't behind the counter immediately. The bell rings, and there is movement from upstairs. A couple of moments later, a door at the top of the stairs opens and the proprietor descends. A cigarette hanging loose between his lips, Dmitri buttons his suit jacket as he comes downstairs. Though, he doesn't seem to have noticed the enormous eagle feather stuck in the collar of the jacket. Hands free of their task, he pulls the cigarette away to exhale and glances around. Seeing the woman from yesterday, dawn colored eyes narrow just a little. "Afternoon." He offers nevertheless, though he's not so quick to offer assistance today. No, he just turns to put the kettle on.
Making her way around the bend of the aisle, Tav heard his greeting but didn't catch sight of him until he was already at the kettle. She smiled to herself, eying him as she continues to walk down the next row and examining things. She truly could get lost doing that.
"Hello Mr. Glass." She returns his greeting, her voice amicable. She absentmindedly pulls her hands back out of her pockets and begins to tap against her upper thighs, a simple beat, but evenly tempo'ed. "How's you're day going?" She inquires, still friendly like.
"Shop only opens at noon." Dmitri answers, "So, just beginning." Sure, that was two hours ago, but he's just the sort of air about him that says he's the sort of guy that wakes up fifteen minutes before he has to go open the shop. Sort of the benefit of living upstairs. It's all muffled around his cigarette though, as he's freed his hands for setting up a couple things on the counter. Teacup, a small computer pulled out from under the counter, a pad of paper. Pulling the cigarette away again, he looks over to her again. "I never did get your name." Or he's forgotten it, either way.
She makes her way to the counter now, casual and slow. She doesn't go to the front of the counter like before, but instead moves toward the edge, near where the entry point is for one to pass behind it. "You're not worried about all those customers you're missing out on? The early risers..." she trails off, then adds "And risk you not calling me 'lass' anymore? I'm not sure it's worth the trade off."
Conveniently closed and locked, that place to step behind the counter. He's at least two shades too paranoid for that. "We're open until three in the morning, I need to sleep sometime." Dmitri says with a laugh, "So no, I'm not." He shakes his head, pausing to drag from his cigarette. And then he's setting to pouring tea, in proper English fashion. Some habits never die, not even after ten years. "Trust me, my knowing your name won't stop me from calling you 'lass.' That's just everyone's fate... Or lad, I suppose - But you get the idea."
"Alright. Good. My name is Tavia." (Tay-V-ah) She sticks one thumb through the belt loop of her dark blue jeans while the other hand drums her fingers quietly on the counter's glass top. "Where are you from?" She asks, curious eyes examining the tea pot and watching him work. "I want to say England." She ventures a rather easy guess. It was an easy question to ask. He couldn't possibly be afraid to share that much. It seemed rather evident.
"Tavia..." Dmitri parrots back, "You got a surname, lass?" One brow inches up. Look, she knows his name, it seems only fair as far as he's concerned. Settling on the stool he keeps behind the counter, he stirs his tea idly. It's not nearly steeped enough, but Dmitri is the sort to fiddle with things. "Liverpool." Comes the answer to her question a moment later. No accent is quite like a Scouser's, after all. It's not hard to place him if you know England much at all. It's hardly a secret.
She settles her eyes onto his, smiling still. "Novy." She tells him, complying to his request. "I've just moved here from New York. Not the big city, mind you. About an hour north of there." The denim shirt she wore came all the way down to her wrists. She began to roll each sleeve up just above half way up her forearm. "You're family still across the pond?"
"Not much of a family to speak of." Dmitri says, and then shakes his head. Something bothers him, and he considers it a long moment. "Now, lass," He says, "You come in here last night, asking names of my clients... Not wanting to tell me what kind of research you're doing for the sake of your results, though when you /did/ tell me, nothing there would be affected by telling me... You fall into the cadence of an interrogater." He pauses for a drag of his cigarette, "And /now/ you lie to me about something as simple as your last name?" He shakes his head, putting out his cigarette and meeting her gaze. The color of his eyes shifts just a little, from rosegold more into the realm of true rose. "What are you doing here?" He says, more serious, somehow more powerful... "Tell me the truth." It's an odd thing, being confronted with someone like Dmitri. He's always just... Something a little bit more than normal, but right now, his voice rings like a bell. There's something more to that /more/, something familiar, something divine.
Her idle finger drumming slowed to a stop, her features relaxing out of the smile and just giving him a blank expression for a brief moment, then words began to spill out of her mouth. Not that she minded. It felt to her as if it were her own idea to suddenly be open and honest with him. She did find herself enjoying his company, after all.
"I'm trying to get you to like me." Comes her first very honest response. "I need to start making connections. I can't do my job without connections." Her honesty just keeps coming. "I think you would make a great connection. In the short time I've spoken with you, you've showcased traits that are consistent with someone who purveys hard to get items and documents. I haven't figured out what sort of things, but your mistrust for anyone you don't know... the questioning of my motives... and fastidiousness about keeping this place in a particular order and clean are some of the things I've keyed in on."
Dmitri hums approval, ending in low, pleasant laughter. "Now, see, isn't this so much nicer?" He says with a shake of his head, "I like it when people are honest with me." Taking another drag from his cigarette, he slowly reaches into his pocket to acquire another. It's offered to her with a lopsided smirk. "So, what kind of work do you do, then?" He just wants to be sure, but Dmitri does always love being right. Call him an egotist, but it's a lot like a cat finding a good sun patch.
She smiles, inclined to agree. She frowns a moment as she tries to figure out why she even bothered to lie to him in the first place. It seemed odd to her, now. "Honesty has it's dark side." She finds herself sharing, as she takes the cigarette and examines it. "I don't actually enjoy these." She says, suddenly feeling guilty for having led him to believe otherwise. She holds onto it though, rolling it in her fingers as she gives away her line of work. "I investigate white collar crime. I work for the FBI." It comes out so nonchalant it sounded as if she didn't have any reason to assume he would find it an undesirable job for her to have.
"Do you not?" Dmitri says with a more genuine laugh. Now that he's not scaling himself back, or maybe it's the just nature of his call to her ancestral memory, it's a beautiful thing. Almost harmonic, just at the edges of hearing. "Clever lass." Smiling, he nods, listening to her answer and humming again. "Well, my dear," He says, finally sipping at his tea, "I can assure you that this place will offer you nothing of interest on that front." Not a lie, but not the whole of the truth, just how Dmitri likes it. There's a long pause and he considers. "What is it you desire most in your life, Miss...?" Two questions in one.
A genuine look of disappointment crosses her visage. His response wasn't what she was looking for, but he could still be hiding something. Still, she couldn't help but feel like she had hit another dead end. His small compliment didn't do much to lift her spirit. She slouches forward, all pretenses shed as she slumps forward and lays her upper half across the counter. Her hair falls loosely about her face, obscuring his view. From under the curtain of her hair she tells him "I want to be valued." Her voice is so subdued. It's almost sad. Okay, it's pretty sad. "My name is Tavia Sessel."
Dmitri sets down his tea when that answer comes. Crossing over to the section of the counter she has chosen for her place to lean. His whole expression changes, softening... And when he looks down at her, the color of his eyes has shifted again. Still in the realm of the dawn, but this time edging toward the warm lilac the sun paints the clouds as it rises. "Oh, my dear," He says, voice turning gentle, touchable as feathers, the kind of voice that is good for cradling one off to sleep. One hand reaches out toward her, his index finger lifting her chin if she'll let him, so that he can look into her eyes again. This had not been the answer he had been expecting, and his brow is furrowed. This expression can only be called affection - The warm, but heartbroken, look one gives to someone they adore when they realize they don't see the beauty in themselves that is why you love them. "You /are/ valued. More than you will ever know." There's a tone in his voice like he's about to turn into one of those 'Jesus loves you' folk, but it never arrives. It's too personal, anyway, even if he sounds as though he's talking about some sort of higher power.
With a very incredulous look flashing across her face, her now lifted chin is lifted further as she pulls herself off the counter and fusses over straightening out her denim shirt. "Am I? You should introduce me." She says, a little terse. She wont look at him. The dark side of honesty was becoming increasingly apparent. Broken people aren't beautiful when expressing their insecurities. Not normally, in any case. And she was starting to feel a need to leave. A need to escape scrutiny. She starts to back up, and bumping into a stack of items, it threatens to topple over. "Oh!... Sorry. Yes, well I should go."
Dmitri shakes his head. "I'm not out to hurt you, lass." He says, some of the power in his voice fading. He doesn't fight her retreat. "If you need to go, then go." He smiles, only glancing at the wobbling stack of items for a minute. It stays upright, luckily. He's got these organized fairly well for such events. "No need to be a stranger, hm?" And that's that, he's right back to his seat, and his tea, like nothing out of the ordinary happened.
She seemed as if she was half listening, but his words did elicit a nod from her. "Yeah... sure. We'll see." With that, she made her way out the shop, hurriedly.
