Mavis had kicked off early from work. She was mostly caught up on weapon and grounds maintenance over at Ninth Spectrum Paintball and if she did it all today then that would leave her with woefully little to do tomorrow. November gave Mavis "too much freedom" to come and go on the job-site as she pleased, but the mortal seemed to manage her time well. She seldom fell behind and when she did it would be done by the next morning as if house elves had snuck in during the night to do the work for her. They hadn't, of course. That was just Mavis pulling an all-nighter. Here lately, however, she'd been trying to adopt Amity's work schedule to free time for them together, but today the mortal is out and about all by her lonesome.
She's dressed warmly, worn aviator jacket pulled over her hoodie, fingerless gloves over her hands. The knitted hat she'd worn into the store is stuffed inside of her jacket. Her jeans are faded, blue denim and threadbare at the knees. Her boots are scuffed, but in good purpose. She trudges around the shop, drifting aimlessly along the shelves with the air of someone looking for something but they hadn't found it yet and wouldn't know til they had. Mavis picks up a trinket here, puts it down, a candle there, sets it back after sniffing it. The mortal ghosts around Lost Treasures like this, selecting an item, weighing it under her critical gaze, then putting it back from whence she'd found it. She sighs and pushes her hands into her pockets, balling them into fists, while she peruses the store's eclectic wares, growing ever more hopeless. The young artist wanted to get something for Amity, but she hadn't found a suitable offering yet.
Carterhas, most days, nothing but free time on his hands. These past few have been spent being slightly more active than usual, running a few last-minute errands here and there. He's been in and out of a variety of specialty shops all over Fort Brunsett, and making far more specific and purposeful purchases than is usual.
And then there's Glimmerdark. Mavis is very likely unaware, but the strange, dark little jewelry shop next door to the place she's chosen to go looking for gifts serves as the base of operations for Zillah Grimes, the Devil's own beloved. And so it is that, as she peruses the shelves inside Lost Treasures, a tall, thin shape, wearing a long, dark coat and leaning heavily on a silver-topped cane, passes the windows outside - and then stops, and turns, and smiles in the light as it recognizes the mortal inside.
The bell over the door rings as Carter enters, but it doesn't need to. There's that strange, oppressive feeling again as he enters, even before Mavis has actually seen him, that odd sensation that seems to pull the observer's attention towards it, like a black hole drawing in an unwary cosmonaut. Some people are easy to look at, encouraging passersby to stare all that they like. Carter /commands/ it.
And then there's the voice. That deep, thunderous, soothing voice, the one that settles on the brain and winds the speaker's mind around itself, as easy as breathing. "Miss Baines," it says, winding through the air like the sweetest smoke. "Fancy seeing you here." Carter's cane taps on the floorboards as he limps his way in. "We seem to be running into one another quite often. Clearly, you've discerning taste in places to pass the time, as well as in the most entertaining company to keep."
Mavis had peered through the windows of Glimmerdark, but something about the jewelry and trinkets glinting inside had put her off and she'd popped into Lost Treasures instead. Perhaps, the idea of giving Amity a ring, bracelet, or something equivalent made the mortal feel somewhat cagey. No, no, this was the better choice. Maybe she'd get Amity a candle, she could circle back that way to where the candles and incense were.
It is when Mavis is back amongst the candles, plucking up one of burnt orange to scent it, that the shop bell rings and Carter Logan steps into the shop. She doesn't turn at the sound, it not being her job anywhere to greet newcomers, but something does cause the mortal to quirk her head. It is as if someone had just tapped her on the shoulder and she turns to stare straight in his direction. The hairs on the back of her neck stand and a shiver, that she accounts to the chill outside of the shop and the opening of the shop door, shoots down her spine.
And, of course, she recognizes the suited-man with his cane and sharp eyes. He was coming up to her, dignified even born on the weight of those crippled legs. She knows his voice well, hears it drummed up in her memory before he even speaks but that was only a ghost of what it really was. When Mister Logan does speak, it is like she is hearing the timbre of his voice for the first time. How _does_ he do that? Mavis blinks dazedly, and then smiles faintly, amused at something he'd said.
"We DO just keep running into one another," she observes wryly, as if some trickery were about that was found to be quite entertaining. "My guess would have been that it's a small town, but clearly we have some congruent fancies." Mavis, recalling that she's holding a candle, sets it back down and glances back up at Carter with a brow arched. She offers in a cheerful tone, "You'll be pleased to know I've been getting the workshop set up."
"I am indeed," Carter says. "I have been intensely curious to see your work since our first meeting." He takes a few last, limping steps - the sound of his shiny black shoes on the floorboards is, perhaps, just the slightest bit sharper than Mavis might have been expecting - and then stops, a few inches out of arm's length, smiling his imperious little smile. His eyes give Mavis a quick down-up look, and he gives a faintly approving nod, as if approving of her fashion choice for the evning, as casual as it is. And then he glances aside, towards the candle selection she's been browsing.
It's odd, the way that feels. When his eyes move away, it's at once a relief and a disappointment, the hindbrain simultaneously sighing as the pressure diverts and groaning as some buried urge to entertain, to prove oneself worthy of the attention one was given, dies unfulfilled. His voice is soothing, his expression perfectly genial, but his physical presence seems to carry a stage with it, an empty theater in which nothing exists but Mavis' performance and Carter's observation of it.
He reaches out and plucks up a small, ornate lighter, turning it over and over in long, delicate fingers as if appraising its make. Without looking up from it, he says - and again there's that heavy weight on each of his words, though his words are light and pleasant - "You seem frustrated about something. I take it that this isn't just a personal diversion, then. You're here looking for something."
He sets the lighter down again, then glances back up to Mavis' face, one eyebrow slightly lifted. "A gift for a friend, presumably," he continues mildly. "Are you looking for anything in particular? I may be able to make some recommendations."
She endures his once-overing measurement of her, unconsciously tilting her chin higher and turning her face to the side to let him catch an angle of it. The mortal draws her hands from her pockets and pulls her hair out of her hoodie, where it has been crunched against her neck and was starting to annoy her. Mavis' fingers comb through the inky strands while Carter talks, smiling in a hopeful fashion. His interest in her art seemed genuine, although that thought both riddled her with anxiety and electrified excitement. Maybe someone would finally appreciate her work or, at least, Carter might be able to say something about it that'd give it meaning in the real world.
"Wij's been hounding me to visit the junkyard," Mavis tells Carter, laughing. It doesn't sound like she's criticizing his niece, quite the opposite. That laugh is rather fond. "Audra warned me not to, something about dogs and deathtraps, but I plan to go anyway. Either later this week or early next." Holidays were busy at the paintball range with people having time off or wanting to spend time with their families. She hadn't had the time lately.
When Carter's discerning attention leaves her, Mavis sighs out a quiet breath she'd been holding back. She looks at the ornate lighter he has picked up, curious about what has drawn his attention and her brows furrow. She disliked that lighter immediately, but then he goes and guesses as to exactly why she is here and the dusky-skinned artist lifts her gaze up to his face with a sense of wariness in her eyes. A trace of self-doubt follows.
"Yeah," she says after a heavy pause. "A gift for Amity, actually." Hesitantly, Mavis adds, "Not sure what to go with." She preemptively rolls her eyes. "We're dating now, by the way, and I just wanted to get her something thoughtful but.. Simple."
"Widget is an immensely entertaining companion, in the right circumstances, but she isn't often one to pay much mind to ideas like safety regulations and the avoidance of tetanus exposure, no." Carter, like Mavis, doesn't sound particularly condemnatory in this. He sounds quite amused, really, and gives a little nod in agreement as he says it.
When she explains her reason for being there, he lifts that eyebrow just the slightest bit higher, and his smile grows just the slightest bit wider in unison. "Are you, now?" he says. If he's noticed her momentary self-doubt - he did, screams the hindbrain, he notices everything, /do better/ - he doesn't judge for it. At least, not in any way that Mavis can see. His expression remains perfectly pleasant, the picture of open and friendly, if somewhat mild and detached, curiousity.
"I must offer my congratulations, then," he continues. "It was obvious from our first meeting that she was holding something of a candle. You're very good at pushing those little buttons she tries to keep hidden. I'd have thought it deliberate if I didn't know better." The smile becomes, for the /briefest/ moment, something just a bit more wicked. Then he carries on, and the moment passes. "But I think that you're in the wrong place, if you're considering gifts."
He turns away again and extends one hand, letting it drift slowly over the rows and rows of knick-knacks. He touches nothing. Nothing has earned it. Not yet, at least. "Gifts, when it comes to things like this, are much better bespoke," he says. "As rough as they might be, the personal touch is what gives them meaning. Anything store-bought, unless it's something you know in advance that they very much want, is generally unimpressive. Zillah receives many things from me that no one else ever has, and none of them come from a store shelf."
Finally, he finds something that merits a bit more attention: a small, glossy music box, which he flips open and peers at for a moment before winding it gently. The slow, tinkling tune is quite tinny and old-fashioned, horribly out of time, and almost laughably off-key, but he listens to it with head cocked and apparently absolute attention. Only when it ends does he go on.
"It may be slightly early for the truly unique," he says. "Though she would certainly be instantly wrapped around your little finger if you /did/ go that far. Desperate for any affection you have to give, that one. But something small - a custom-made necklace, perhaps, given your artistic inclinations - wouldn't be inappropriate, I think."
"No," agrees Mavis with a low laugh. "She really isn't." Talking about Widget and her lack of regard for safety procedures. "I love it though, she's fun. Seems so indestructible." The mortal had high opinions of Widget, no doubt, but in contrast others seemed so much more fragile. Others like Amity of whom she was suddenly protective of after having brought her name up.
Mavis shoots a dark look at his wicked grin and sly suggestion at her supposed guile. "How do you know," she counters, "that Amity's not the one pulling on my strings? And," she sighs, casting a rueful look about the shop, "I think that you're right."
She then goes quiet, watching Carter peruse the shelves as she had but also NOT like she had. Mavis' fingers had passed over nearly every item on that shelf, as if the right gift would scream out at her when she touched it. He picks up the music box, winds it, and the tune jangles out. She listens, frowning softly then frowning more at what Carter next suggests.
"Mmh," she hums gruffly, pushing her hands into her pockets and hooking her thumbs out. The look Mavis was giving him was unfriendly. She asks, breezily, "Doesn't that seem a bit like taking advantage of her?" then goes on to say, "I dunno, seems like too much, too fast." What if she read too much into it? Amity had only gotten too tipsy the other night and let too many words slip. Specially, the words, "I love you," and hadn't caught herself. Mavis wasn't about to call her on it. Nope, nope. "Maybe, like... a kitten or something. Something that could keep her company." She comments, as an afterthought, "Audra's skittish about dogs so that's out."
"She's what we used to call 'a character'," Carter says, flashing a brief grin at Mavis' assessment of Widget. "And she's very lucky to have an immune system as strong as she does, given her usual forms of entertainment. You'd be well advised to wear thick, thoroughly /safe/ clothing when you do get around to visiting the junkyard." He shuts the music box. "Particularly gloves."
He turns away from the shelf and looks back to Mavis again, folding his hands over the top of his cane. The laugh that comes from his throat is deep and rich, like the finest wine. "Miss Baines," he says, with another exquisite grin, "you and I both know that Miss Millikan hasn't an ounce of guile in her entire body. Your strings can be as obvious and tempting as they like, and she couldn't bring herself to touch them. If you hadn't pressed the matter - and I don't have to be told that it /was/ you who started that conversation, though I'd /guess/ that she was the one who actually pushed things so far as dating - she would have pined for you from afar indefinitely."
He shakes his head, his smile a bit crooked now, but no less genuine and genial. "Miss Millikan is an extremely and unhealthily restrained character," he continues. "I could tell you as much within five minutes of having met her. 'To love, pure and chaste, from afar'-"
It's a bit of singing, a piece lifted from "Man of La Mancha". Only a few notes, not even a full line, and still, it makes the rest of his speech sound almost tone-deaf in comparison. There are professional singers who would kill for a voice like that, listeners who would sell their souls to have heard what Mavis was just given. And he just... drops casually back into normal speech on the next syllable, so smoothly and quickly that it might not have happened at all.
"-and all that. And deliberately pushing her that quickly might constitute taking advantage of her, yes, depending on whether or not you think you return her feelings." He shrugs, as if the question is unworthy of further consideration. "A pet may do well," he adds, "but you'd be best doing some surreptitious questioning as to her thoughts on the matter. I've had pets unceremoniously dropped in my lap before. Unless you're sure that she would /want/ a kitten, it's quite a responsibility to foist on someone without warning."
Mavis nods along with Carter's advice for visiting Widget's junkyard, making a mental note in the back of her mind to wear a work jumper and some of her sturdier gloves. "Why, Mister Logan," she says to him, drawling out the words and grinning. "It almost sounds like you're concerned. Don't worry, though. I'll be fine." Her grin takes on a wolfish gleam. "Always am." That smiles drains away, wilting on her face and the mortal rolls her eyes again, sighing and glancing off at the far-away shelves.
"Hrm," she hums, glimpsing back at Carter skeptically. "Amity might just surprise you, you know. She's secretive," Mavis says to Carter in an airy, off-handed voice with an equally thoughtless shrug. "Although, I'm not sure I'd say she's very sneaky.. quite the opposite." Odd things to be saying about someone she's gift shopping for. Mavis doesn't sound particularly venomous about it, but, instead, rather blasé.
Her expression of indifference vanishes when Carter's speaking voice shifts to deliver a few sweet, soul-sung notes and Mavis' attention snaps up to him. When he resumes speaking, her brows furrow slowly as if she didn't like what he was saying.
"Well," goes Mavis, when he's done speaking, "I was thinking it would kinda be for "me" and then see how Amity warms up a kitten. Which, I think, would be pretty immediate." Don't ask how Mavis knows this, she just does. "And! I always wanted a pet," she plunges on, "but there were always landlords or roommates who had their own pets.. then vet bills, those can get heavy."
"I have a vested interest in your continued health and productivity," Carter says, inclining his head as if admitting that Mavis has caught him out in something. "Art, regardless of medium, is one of the few things to reliably capture my attention these days. Thus, I prefer that any artists I meet be capable of producing it, rather than suffering from a bad case of gangrene due to Widget's carelessness."
He lifts his head again, though, when Mavis gives that little shrug, and another laugh escapes him. This one is lighter and quicker, and accompanied by another rather crooked smile. "I imagine she is," he says. "/Very/ secretive, I should think. Aside from the fact that she very much has things worth keeping secret-" that has a note of teasing in it, just the slightest little twist to the words, only half-serious "-she's not one who easily admits things, even to herself. As I said, rather unhealthily restrained."
With that, he turns again, this time towards the opposite shelf. This one is laden down with old books, and again, Carter's hand does that little hover, its fingertips less than an inch away from the spines. He limps away down the aisle, this time, too, even as he continues to speak.
"Which is why it's ultimately quite fortunate that she /has/ formed such an attachment to you," he says, over his shoulder. "You can see her buttons - for all her secrets, she's not very good at hiding those - and aren't afraid to push them hard enough to get a genuine response. That alone would be good for her, in the long run. The fact that you seem to actually care about not breaking her in the short one is just a nice bonus, for her."
He pauses, then makes a slightly surprised face and reaches out to remove a slim, weatherbeaten little novel from the shelf. It's clearly quite old, at least thirty years. The cover depicts an impressively curved woman wearing /just/ enough clothing to not be automatically labeled as pornographic, being seized in the arms of what is quite clearly a demon. "Hm," Carter says. "One of mine. I didn't expect to find it here, of all places."
And, with a shrug, he slots it back into place on the shelf.
Mavis trails after Carter, disgruntled that he has chosen to move away. She'd already circled this shop a couple of times and the shelves held nothing for her today. But, still, Carter was shuffling down the aisle and Mavis' bound to follow him because she's sucked into the orbit of his words.
She huffs, burying her fists deeper into her pockets. "See, I have a different theory," she mutters from behind him, leaning to the peer at the books Carter has taken an interest in. "That Amity's the one leading this dance. It pulls on my strings to see her so.. stuck in her own head. Of course I am going to help her," she says to him, lifting herself up to her full height behind Carter, slightly off to the side. She had shuffled here to better peer at the shelves he was inspecting. Mavis sounded defensive, disliking that Carter kept alluding that she was manipulating her own girlfriend. "I only do what Amity wants, it isn't my fault that I can see she's a terrible liar. Whatever she's holding on to, it cant be _that_ bad."
Then she goes, "Huh?" Mavis steps closer, almost brushing Carter's arm with hers, and she squints at the cover of the book, reading its title and author. "One of yours?" Then, just as quickly, Carter returns the book to the shelf and Mavis has to stop herself from withdrawing it back out to look at it again.
"One of mine indeed," Carter says mildly. "I used to write terrible bodice-rippers, just to see what sort of reception they would get. I've no great skill with a pen, but-" he grins briefly again "-I do have a life full of /obscene/ scandal to draw from. What's in there is just what made it past the editor."
It's a very old book. Even looking at the spine, that much is certain. And Carter doesn't look more than in his mid-fifties. He must have started his career pretty young, judging by that. Not impossible, but certainly notable - even if Carter himself doesn't seem to think so. He just turns back to Mavis, leaving the book sitting there, tempting her, the words "THE PALE MOONLIGHT" emblazoned on its spine.
"You needn't be defensive," he continues, casually. "I am neither attacking nor making negative implications. Quite the opposite, in fact - however you choose to frame it, Miss Millikan desperately requires someone to shake her out of her own head, and you're both in a prime position to do so /and/ willing to make the attempt in such a way that she won't be too badly hurt by any clumsy over- or under-reach. She isn't being honest. That much is clear. So you're going to have to show her how to be, and that she can safely entrust you with things she's never told anyone else."
Again, he settles both hands atop his cane, and again, Mavis finds herself fixed with that curiously demanding stare. It's not exactly a critic's stare, though the brain continues to scream for perfection, to make that look worth giving. It's the look one performer might give another, watching their technique carefully, studying it for reference later.
"I'd just brace yourself for what she has to say, eventually," he finishes. "Fort Brunsett is full of people who keep secrets, Miss Baines. You might find that a great number of them are kept for good reason."
His tone is serious, but his expression is slightly catlike. As he looks down at Mavis, the look in his eyes makes it quite clear that he knows she won't rest until she's ferreted out every last little truth - and that he very much approves.
Mavis' eyebrows shoot up at the mention of scandal and she blinks at him. For a few seconds, the mortal doesn't know what to say to that and then she barks out a startled laugh. A couple of other customers milling about the store shoot Mavis looks comprised of daggers and she glances back, hunching her shoulders and shrinking in on herself. Still, she's not repentant enough to lose the grin. She says, quietly, "You know what, Mister Logan?" Pause. "_You_ are quite the character."
She snickers, turning her head to peer back over a shoulder and check on those old hens that'd glowered at her for being too mirthful. The artist does sober, though, as Carter elaborates upon her his views of her dynamic with Amity and Mavis found herself resenting his assessment. She resented it, because she couldn't refute it.
"Hmm," she hums, stalling for time to figure out how to answer. For just a second, her gaze skips off to the shelved book Carter had put away and she makes a mental note to return later and purchase it. Out of curiosity. That's all. "Gotta admit. Sounds like you know what you're talking about, Mister Logan," Mavis supplies, adding a dose of politeness to her tone and that subtle note of farewell a person injects towards the end of a conversation. She edges toward the exit. "But, I really should scram. Promised Amity that I'd let her whoop me at Scrabble." Mavis flashes a shy smile, showing her teeth and the sliver-gap between her incisors. "But I'll probably be seeing you around, if history's any indication." She adds, uncertainly, "It was nice seeing you again, Mister Logan."
"I try to be," Carter says, sinking into a sort of half-bow over the top of his cane. "I've lived my life by one rule and one rule only, Miss Baines, and it's a rule that's served me well. I never, ever compromise on what I want - and I encourage all those around me to do the same. It makes things infinitely more enjoyable for all involved."
He straightens up, and his smile becomes a broad, beaming grin as she begins to edge away. It's an exquisitely perfect thing, that grin, even if Mavis' hindbrain does involuntarily scream about something involving predatory fangs, and he lifts one hand to give her a polite little wave. "It sounds that way because I very much do, Miss Baines," he says, now definitely amused. "Take the word of a proudly terrible person on this - Miss Millikan could do far, /far/ worse for herself." A pause. "Though she might just be the type to enjoy that."
He lowers his hand again, watching her retreat, and there's another brief flash of teeth. "It's a genuine pleasure," he says, just loud enough for her to hear, as she reaches the door. "And believe me when I say, Miss Baines, that those words aren't something I say to just anyone."
And, with that, the door shuts behind her, and Mavis is left out in the street outside Lost Treasures, with the sudden feeling that a blinding spotlight has just been switched off, and she's finally allowed to leave the stage.
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