undergrounds | (OTA) Things are pretty, graceful, rich, elegant, handsome, but...

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(OTA) Things are pretty, graceful, rich, elegant, handsome, but...

[A.]
When looking to buy or sell an unusual item, Kunstkammer is a small, but well respected shop that specializes in ephemera and curiosities. The lights are dimmed to protect the colours of the more delicate pieces, but should one wind their way through the somewhat maze-like cabinets and cases, they will likely find their way to a desk, a few chairs, and a circle of warm lighting. The proprietor, Lan, is most often found here reading or cataloging some new, strange find. She is a petite fae woman with smooth pale pink skin pebbled over with small scales more like a ray than a snake.

Of course, there is a back-of-shop filled with items of a more usual, occasionally salacious or dangerous nature. Should anyone have an interest, Lan is just as happy to sell or trade any piece from her collection. She has a particular weakness for anything that she classifies as 'beautiful', but her definition may not match the standard.

(Or you can continue from the TDM over here.)

[B.] Lan isn't one to be caught out on public transit, not when it's just as easy to slip slideways and walk along a more interesting shortcut. That isn't to say that she's not often seen out and about: there's always a gallery opening, a curious tasting menu, or some flavour of performance that's worth taking in. While she may be Seelie, she's more likely to be spotted at night and she certainly does nothing to hide who or what she is.

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Party's hit an unfortunate dip between his own gallery showings, but that won't stop him from supporting his friends in the art community when he can. He goes to as many galleries as he can, always trying to meet new artists and support the ones that he already knows. This particular showing is a little more mainstream than his taste tends to run, but he can't help admiring the technical skill of this painter.

Being the all-around party!wolf that he is, he's managed to sniff out the free wine first and the ear of the artist second, but as many people are hoping to get the artist's ear for a moment, he graciously steps away after a congratulations as the exchanging of contact information. It turns out that she's a fan of his, as well, and he promises to grab coffee with her in the coming weeks before heading back for another free glass of wine.

As he steps away with his newly-filled glass, he runs his fingers through his stringy, bright hair and almost elbows Lan with the hand holding the glass. "Shit. Sorry!"

"Apology accepted and it's nothing to fret about. No harm done, you see?" Lan isn't overly put out by a knock or two, and this wasn't even bad enough to make her spill her drink. Her hosts know her well enough to make sure that while everyone else can have the wine, she's going to avail herself of a glass of thick cream.

There are plenty of things that can and do upset Lan and put her into a proper fae-snit, but an apology freely given isn't one of them.

A smile full of bright teeth is his first response. He's in good spirits already and the agreeable response is a relief. "Don't think I've seen you 'round here before, have I? My name's Party."

Lan's been told that she stands out, but she's pleased to see that her appearance hasn't overly upset Party. Her own smile doesn't show off her teeth, but that's probably for the best.

"I've been on the continent for some time and it's a pleasure to meet you, Party. I'm called Lan." The patch of skin at the base of her throat ripples and swirls with colour and pattern in time with her speech.

"Nice to meet ya, Lan." He grins and takes a large gulp of his wine, classy as a cucumber wrapped in bacon.

"Wine's real good." It's unlikely that anyone with taste or opinions on wine would agree with him, but he's really a drink-to-get-drunk sort of guy, anyway, and he's definitely getting drunk.

Daylight is an extraordinary thing.

It has been more than one hundred and twenty years since Joscelin last saw the sun, but now he is free to watch it rise and fall as he wishes. Though there's little of it today. A cold rain falls over the city, leaving it in a gloomy half-twilight at noon, and that suits Joscelin just fine. Fewer people are apt to notice a young child alone when he should be in school when they're miserably bundled into coats and fiddling with their umbrellas.

Joss has a particular destination in mind today. He has heard of this shop before, and now that he can visit it during normal business hours, he's got some selling to do. The proprietress is a fae, which could complicate things, but he's here out of curiosity as much as anything.

A small bell tinkles above him as he enters the shop, shaking some of the rain off his umbrella.

From the back of the store, Lan's voice calls out, "Come in, come in. There's an umbrella stand by the door."

For fairly obvious reasons, ephemera and water do not mix well and Lan takes precautions when the weather is damp. While she may have scales, she is far fonder of a nice, bit of radiant heat basking over lolling about in the sun. (Exceptions can be made for the Côte d'Azur and/or Monaco.)

As she winds her way to the front of the store, the colours at the base of her throat ripple and shift – softly glowing blues and greens, a sudden stippling of white.

Joss had been expecting a fae, but he certainly hadn't thought she would be so, well, fae-like. He can't help but gape a bit at her exotic disregard for the glamours her kind usually adopt within the mortal realm, and after a moment of staring finds he rather respects her for it. But then he comes back to himself and smiles.

"You are the shopkeeper here? I've some items to sell."

Lan has noticed that most fae prefer to appear human. She has some opinions about that, but prefers to keep them to herself.

"I am, indeed. Please, come in, come in. Let's not linger in a doorway. I have a space to sit and if you like, I can put the kettle on." Tea or coffee might not nourish her guest, but it's important to be a good host and if all she can offer is warmth, then that's what she'll bring.

[Apparently I had this window open for days and never sent the tag. D: Sorry!]

Putting the kettle on for a vampire? What a novel idea.

Assured, at least, of his welcome, Joscelin comes deeper into the shop. He rather likes it in here. It feels old, in a way few things do at his age. That's the magic at work, of course. Plenty of what the fae do feels this way.

He points to the reusable shopping bag in his hand. "I've been going through some old things of mine and found this. I was wondering if you could tell me what, exactly, it is, and whether or not it's got any value." Reaching in, he pulls out what looks to be an old school practice book, completely unused. It smells of magic, though. Reeks of it. He'd gotten it off a witch a couple of centuries ago. Of course, he hadn't known she was a witch until after he'd killed her, but that was ancient history by now.

((No worries!))

Lan bustles about at the back of the shop and gestures that he's welcome to take a seat on one of two soft armchairs. There's a little table between them with a space for the kettle and cups and a larger table in front of the chairs that he can put the book down on.

"Most things have value, but the trick of it is matching the buyer to the item. May I see it?"

Finding the right shop for what he needs is turning out to be a tricky affair. Maybe this will be the one.

Although once Ghoul slips inside, he finds himself suddenly unsure. The shop is... cramped, to put it nicely, and dim. He pauses right inside the door, blinking a few times and giving his eyes time to adjust to the difference in lighting before carefully weaving his way around a few displays. While he moves, he makes sure to shove his hands deep inside his pockets just in case.

The place reminds him of some kind of antique dealer, where everything is incredibly old and incredibly expensive. He gets the feeling that he can't afford to accidentally break something.

It would be profoundly unwise to go about in Lan's store and break things. An accident might be tolerated, but there's no guarantee she'll view it that way.

"Come in, come in," she calls from the back of the shop as she walks up to the front. Once the light from the windows hits her, there's no denying just how inhuman she is. "How can I help you?"

Ghoul instinctively heads towards the voice. The best thing to do is to outright ask, since he has no idea where to even begin looking on his own.

"Hey, yeah, I was—" When he catches sight of her, he loses all his words and jumps a bit in surprise. He's never actually seen a fae look like a fae... Not that it's bad. She's kind of pretty in a really weird, alien sort of way, and he gets caught up in staring for a touch too long before he remembers where he is and what he's doing. "Uh, I think it's probably a long shot, but I was wondering if you have anything like... I dunno, anything that works like wards? Or repellents?"

"Ah, no, I'm afraid not. You've come to the wrong sort of shop." Undoubtedly, Lan could magically ward someone's home or things, but that's not really what she's best at. "If you would like a piece of art, I can help you there. I might even..."

She stills, cocks her head to one side, and breaks into a bright smile that's matched by a sudden sharp splash of light and colour from her throat. "A repellant, you say? I have just the thing. A piece so awful that it would drive anyone with good taste away. Would you care to see it?"

Damn it.

He hides his disappointment well enough, forcing his short-lived frown in to a mild smile instead. He sincerely doubts art will help his situation, but, fuck. He's already here. Might as well make the trip worth it. "Yeah, why not? Lemme take a look. But, uh... if it's so bad, why do you have it? Isn't ugly stuff bad for business?"

Lan stands quite still for a moment, the only movement her breathing and the play of colour moving over her skin. Her expression never wavers as she continues to watch him, but not move towards any of the racks of prints or shelves of books. Perhaps she will be more generous than usual today.

"What do you think the point of art is?"

Ghoul's a little taken aback by the question, his eyes widening a fraction. The way she's staring at him makes him feel like ants are crawling all over his skin. It's the same sensation he always gets when he's been unexpectedly put on the spot. He's definitely not an artsy kind of guy, more like the kid who got a C in every art class, so his first instinct is to say, "Ain't it supposed to be pretty?" That's what it usually seems to be for. Something easy to sell. Something nice, nonthreatening, and utterly forgettable meant to take up blank space on a wall at home or in an office. The visual equivalent of soft elevator music.

But, a moment after saying it, he realizes that's not right. He's seen the act of purposely destroying nice things being called art, too. Hell, he's participated in some of that himself. He's not so bold as to pass himself off as an artist, but he knows people who live by that identity, and he can tell just by watching (and also by doing)- it's more than just breaking stuff or spraypainting walls, it's channeling emotion in to something physical, making a statement. So, maybe that's supposed to be the point of it all, pretty or not. Expression. Secrets. Communication.

He chews at his bottom lip and shrugs, avoiding eye contact as he answers, "Um. No, I guess it doesn't really have a point. Or, I mean- maybe it's whatever you make of it. You know? I dunno." He has trouble putting it in to words. First, because it sounds ridiculous, and second, because it feels kind of weirdly personal.

Dumb dog.

B!

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A

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B

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