08-21-2019, 04:41 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-01-2019, 09:25 PM by Jules Everett.)
The stranger opened with a light, casual joke, one that might’ve garnered a gentle chuckle from the average shop owner, yet Jules offered little more than a quick titter beneath the thick mustache. “Lucky you, indeed,” he replied as he closed the door against the growing gusts of wind.
It was easy to dismiss the stranger’s bundled up nature as just a reaction to the brewing storm, but Jules’s former life in London contained too many sharpened blades and eager revolvers hidden inside long coats for him to feel completely comfortable. Even as his guest began to loosen up, disrobing only slightly, Jules’s fingers still twitched.
“You’re not wrong,” Jules confirmed, noting the stranger’s unusual accent and failing to place its origin. “The nice lady who owned the place sold, packed up, and was planning on moving back home, she said. Didn’t catch where. Someplace in Scotland, mayhap.”
His small talk was halted as the stranger came up close, smile too friendly, too sharp. Everything was too with this one, Jules couldn’t help but notice.
A bouquet of scents filled Jules’s nostrils as he inhaled; his guest was nutty, musky, and rich all at once. They weren’t wholly unpleasant smells, he decided.
The shutters banged against the walls outside the shop. “‘Scuse me, then,” he mumbled, clearing his throat with a gruff rumble as he slipped past the other man, moving in an odd sideways shuffle across the workshop. Never turn your back on strangers; that was just good sense.
Once the windows had been properly shut and locked, the stranger received Jules’s attention again. “Looking for a repair?” He nodded at the man’s feet, covered in a pair of shoes that had seen more than a few rough days. “If those are the ones you’re meaning, I can certainly breathe some new life into them, but it isn’t going to be before the night’s up, let alone this storm. I’ll be in need of a few days, at least.”
Jules’s eyebrows knit together as he gave the stranger another look over. He wasn’t intimidating, at least not physically. Quite a few inches shorter than Jules himself, even with the extra height gifted to him by his various accessories. But there was just… something, wasn’t there? Something not quite right. He had smelled the familiar aroma of a good whiskey on the young man’s breath. Couldn’t fault a man for enjoying a drink now and again.
“What did you say your name was, sir?” Jules asked, placing his hands on his hips. “I’ll be needing to record it, for the order, you understand.”
It was easy to dismiss the stranger’s bundled up nature as just a reaction to the brewing storm, but Jules’s former life in London contained too many sharpened blades and eager revolvers hidden inside long coats for him to feel completely comfortable. Even as his guest began to loosen up, disrobing only slightly, Jules’s fingers still twitched.
“You’re not wrong,” Jules confirmed, noting the stranger’s unusual accent and failing to place its origin. “The nice lady who owned the place sold, packed up, and was planning on moving back home, she said. Didn’t catch where. Someplace in Scotland, mayhap.”
His small talk was halted as the stranger came up close, smile too friendly, too sharp. Everything was too with this one, Jules couldn’t help but notice.
A bouquet of scents filled Jules’s nostrils as he inhaled; his guest was nutty, musky, and rich all at once. They weren’t wholly unpleasant smells, he decided.
The shutters banged against the walls outside the shop. “‘Scuse me, then,” he mumbled, clearing his throat with a gruff rumble as he slipped past the other man, moving in an odd sideways shuffle across the workshop. Never turn your back on strangers; that was just good sense.
Once the windows had been properly shut and locked, the stranger received Jules’s attention again. “Looking for a repair?” He nodded at the man’s feet, covered in a pair of shoes that had seen more than a few rough days. “If those are the ones you’re meaning, I can certainly breathe some new life into them, but it isn’t going to be before the night’s up, let alone this storm. I’ll be in need of a few days, at least.”
Jules’s eyebrows knit together as he gave the stranger another look over. He wasn’t intimidating, at least not physically. Quite a few inches shorter than Jules himself, even with the extra height gifted to him by his various accessories. But there was just… something, wasn’t there? Something not quite right. He had smelled the familiar aroma of a good whiskey on the young man’s breath. Couldn’t fault a man for enjoying a drink now and again.
“What did you say your name was, sir?” Jules asked, placing his hands on his hips. “I’ll be needing to record it, for the order, you understand.”
