[open] bars & bookstores

[specifiercity]

ONE

Arthur has visited a number of used book stores in the past year. Sometimes he wanders into them when he has a few minutes to spare on his way to and from the train, and on occasion he makes a point to visit one and sift through their collections to find something interesting. He'll read just about anything, but his old client taught him what to look for in everything from old fairytales to modern journals, how to see the clues left behind by the supernatural world that no one would pick up on if they didn't already know. Arthur is accumulating a small bookshelf's worth of books with high-lighted passages, with everything from children's nursery rhymes to new journalism from the 60's and 70's.

That's where he is now, standing outside of a small storefront on a sunny day, looking down at a bin of cheap books for something that he might be able to analyze just for fun. It'd be a shame if someone were to interrupt him.

TWO

Arthur's not a guy who hangs out at a bar alone for an hour by choice. Maybe this is obvious by his slouched posture and frown as he stares down at the remainder of his second beer, some shitty draught that seemed a safe choice when he arrived. Having politely rebuffed all of the bartender's attempts at conversation, he must look stood up - and he has been, only not for a date. He was supposed to meet a witch here, someone who could offer a bit of a different insight into what's been going on with Circle Midnight, but she never showed.

He knows he can't expect everyone to be perfectly punctual, but Arthur's in the process of giving up hope that she'll ever walk in. He checks his phone to confirm that it has indeed been fifty eight minutes since he sat down, and then he sighs as he puts it back in his pocket. Guess it's time to polish off this crappy beer that he paid too much for and then head out - that is, unless someone else happens to distract him.

WILDCARD

[Please hit me up if you'd like a different situation!]

Comments

1

[mensrea]

And what could possibly be more intrusive and interruptive than a teenage boy instigating an argument with the store clerk?

“Three pounds!? You couldn’t even buy kindling with that!”

The source of outrage is Stiles Stilinski—who is trying to sell a collection of used titles for some spare money. At least, that’s what it appears he’s up to. Who knows with this kid.

“Hey, buddy, these are some really unique books, okay!? You’re not going to rip me off here. I’ll take my business elsewhere!”

Unimpressed by the teenager with an American accent, the store clerk suggests he does just that. That seems to stump Stiles for all of five seconds.

“…Where’s the manager!? I want to have words with him.”

[specifiercity]

Maybe it's his military background, but Arthur's not exactly the kind of guy to just stay out of a conflict when he sees (or hears) it happening. When he hears Stiles' voice from outside, he sighs in resentment as he loses all the focus he was using to read the back-cover summaries, and he puts down the novel he had in his hand and steps inside.

"There a problem here?"

[mensrea]

A sharp expression ripples across Stiles' face when he realizes the book store has others present. He's not able to immediately tell if this guy is a customer or an employee, though the interference has him leaning toward the latter. Either way, his self-appointed job just got a whole hell of a lot harder. If he's going to steal the book store owner's black book, he needs to get creative now.

"You the manager?" he asks, sounding doubtful. Despite his previously raised voice, there's literally no anger or irritation in his tone.

[specifiercity]

Arthur's far too well-dressed to be the manager of a book store and he has an American accent, but he can see how that might be lost on some people. He considers the options: telling this kid he's the manager might make it easier to tell him to get lost, but on the other hand, does he really want to take on that responsibility?

The decision's pretty easy and he rolls his eyes. "Do I like I'm the manager? Come on kid, you can make a few bucks somewhere else. Leave this guy alone."

[mensrea]

For Stiles, the American accent ultimately means little; his own boss here in Europe happens to be from the states, after all. Lips pursed, he gives Arthur a narrowed once-over and then turns away, seemingly dismissing the guy.

"If you're not the manager, butt out, dude. This is a business arrangement. Between professionals. Professional businessmen."

The store clerk gives him a look like he's lost his mind.

[specifiercity]

Arthur echoes him with a heavy does of skepticism. "Professional businessmen. What are you, fifteen?"

He's still standing just inside the doorway, arms crossed and a frown on his face as he gives the kid a once-over, trying to determine what he actually wants.

[mensrea]

Sputtering in mock indignation, Stiles slaps a hand down on the front desk. This sends all the papers there flying in every direction.

"That's seventeen to you, pal." Stiles that doesn't even make sense. "Now if you'll excuse us..."

The clerk, underpaid and long-suffering, has stooped down to start collecting the papers. Stiles glances at Arthur, chews on his lip, and then belly flops on the desk to begin quietly rifling through the drawers. The clerk's back is turned, at least.

[specifiercity]

Arthur was about to kneel down and help clean up the mess, but then he sees what Stiles is doing and he sets his jaw with a sigh. He doesn't move quickly, but once he does move it's with purpose - he takes a few steps toward the desk, picks up Stiles' books with one hand and then grabs the back of Stiles' shirt with the other.

"Time to go, kid."

He pulls him up off the desk and then pushes him toward the door, marching him out of the bookstore and onto the sidewalk outside, stopping a few feet away from the storefront.

[mensrea]

The sad thing is, this will be the umpteenth time Stiles has been escorted out of a building in such a manner. Having found nothing of interest in the drawers he managed to search, he goes quietly—well, figuratively, that is. Stiles Stilinski hardly does anything quietly. But he doesn’t resist, fortunately. Once outside, he jerks away from Arthur and fusses with his shirt.

“What’re you, a narc?”

Huffing, he folds his arms over his chest.

[specifiercity]

"No," Arthur tells him, holding the stack of books with both hands and scanning the titles. He's looking at them as if determining which ones he should keep - which he seriously is considering right now.

"But I do want to know what the hell you were trying to steal. The cash box wasn't even in the desk."

[mensrea]

Arthur will find himself scanning the assigned summer reading titles of Stiles' senior year of high school. So basically, the most common of school board approved classics. No wonder the store clerk wasn't offering much for the stack. It probably doesn't help that Native Son has just about every single line highlighted in neon pink.

"Holy crap, dude! I wasn't trying to steal anything!" says the teen who had been trying to steal something. "How dare you accuse me of...of such wrongdoing. I'll have you know I've got a lawyer friend who won't stand for this kind of slander against my name."

Apollo will probably laugh. Or hit him for trying to steal.

[specifiercity]

Arthur frowns down at the collection, glancing at the cover of Lord of the Flies briefly before deciding they're all useless.

"Well, there's no way you were going to get any money for these, and I think you know that."

He shoves them against Stiles' chest and waits for him to take them back before crossing his arms.

[mensrea]

"Yeah, thanks for the consultation."

Frowning, he scrambles to accept the pile of books and then dumps them unceremoniously into his backpack.

[specifiercity]

Arthur watches the whole thing with general dismay, scanning Stiles' face once he's done with the backpack.

"I am curious - what did you want out of the desk? And what kind of planned theft involves making a commotion that could sabotage the whole thing?"

[mensrea]

"Let's say, hypothetically, that I was—again, hypothetically—trying to steal something. Why would this hypothetical version of myself tell a total stranger about it?"

Especially a stranger who played referee. Pulling out his phone, Stiles checks where the nearest station to the tube is, then glances at the store's business hours sign.

[specifiercity]

Arthur nods, glancing up the street. "Because then that stranger will decide whether he wants to call the cops or not, since that stranger has a feeling you'll be back."

[mensrea]

Stiles is not impressed. As the son of Beacon Hill’s Sheriff, he has a high awareness of when he’s actually liable of getting into trouble. This is not one of those times—yet. No security cameras, the clerk had been distracted, nothing taken…it was some random stranger’s word against his. It also helps that Stiles has a few contacts in the London police. So all in all, he’s unintimidated.

“Right. Why don’t you go do that, and I’ll be at the sandwich place across the street buying something to eat. If they ask for a description, don’t forget to mention my handsome good looks.”

[specifiercity]

God, children. At this point Arthur can't remember why he got involved, and he lets out a long-suffering sigh of regret and slips his hands into his pockets. He swallows the urge to threaten bodily harm, though he straightens his back into something that echoes his military training as he tosses another glance up and down the street.

"Just get lost," he says, his tone betraying that Stiles has succeeded in annoying him. He starts to turn away, back towards the bookstore with the intention of going back in to make sure the clerk has everything under control. "And check the attitude - it's only funny until it gets you in shit."

[mensrea]

That posture is noted, a measure of respect sharpening Stiles’ eyes. Unfortunately, it isn’t enough to curb his tongue. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he watches the man make to return to the bookstore.

“Sure thing, pal. Whatever you say. Later.”

There’s a sandwich with his name on it.