2019-05-21 - All That Glimmers is not Gold

Lilith is leaning on the silver and jewelry glass case looking exasperated while on the phone, some broken gold chains on a cloth in front of her. She has music playing low accompaniment for her work and it's currently playing K-Flay's song Blood in the Cut, which entirely matches her attitude with whoever she's on the phone and having a conversation with.

Today, she's wearing faux leather black leggings, an aquamarine tanktop with a mermaid on it that looks more violent than anything Disney, clearly an indie art print shirt. And the tip of one of her low black and white converse shoes is digging constantly with tap and grind into the floor behind the counter while she props in lean, hair up in a ponytail.

"... mhm. Are you done yet? Because the way I see it, I'm the one keeping you afloat." A pause, "... no, you have an allowance for the liquor store, if you used it up, that's on you." Another pause and growing agitation, "Goddamnit, we are not having this conversation. Nothing in here is yours to take now."

Her mascara laden lashes roll upward with her blue eyes to stare at the ceiling while listening to the other end of the phone call, then she just up and ends the call with a tiny string of curses to herself afterwards, "Bring it back to the shop or I'm cutting your liquor allowance entirely. You have fifteen minutes, Hank." A pause, "Okay, thirty minutes." Another pause, "BE HERE WITHIN THE HOUR OR I AM SETTING YOU ON FIRE! Ugh!" Is that a real threat? Probably not.

Does the front door to this place have a bell? It needs a bell. The entrance of Alistair Carver into any home, place of business, fishery or church requires a bell. Around his neck, depending on who you ask. He's in his usual waistcoat attire, added to by the grey shotgun coat that's doing an admirable job of keeping any chill in the air firmly away from him. That'd be why the collar's pulled up. Or he thinks it looks cool. Hopefully it's the former, because it veers him wildly into 'I wish I were a spy' territory.

Hands in pockets, shoulders shrugged up, and deciding to be polite and not smoke inside, it's a slow mosey inside that he carries out, polished shoes squelching slightly from unseen moisture, and patches of saw dust marring the otherwise perfectly tended to leather. All said, there's a pretty impressed expression on his face as he resolutely and very obviously does his best to ignore the phone conversation, pulling out a hand from his pocket to loosen his tie even more that it already was to begin with, and immediately head to pick up what could only be considered 'the first gewgaw he saw on a shelf that would make him look distracted.'

"With your mind, or... like, gasoline and a match?" It's said as much to the shelf as anywhere, the man only piping up in what is a distinctly British accent when Lilith starts sending outright threats down the phone. "'cause one is a lot harder to do down the phone."

"Preferably with a hadoken fireball, but that makes me sound like a nerd. So we'll go with the Carrie angle instead. Gasoline gets on your shoes, you smell it for a week and it always dribbles. And matches are unreliable." Lilith responds off the cuff with a hint of dry humor in her tone. And there is a bell on the door, so she has a moment to look Carver over as he goes to grab a random thing off of the shelving selection of variety and then some.

It's just a Pawn Shop, all told, but it's in pretty good condition and layout form with the building being recently remodeled and built up after the fire at the end of last year that people speculated Hank Winslow set for insurance money, starting fires to pull his own ass out of the fires with Lilith gone and away. But it didn't work and here she is, clearly with thumbs down on things. While there's old and new items, electronics, pastimes, jewelry, all of that in various years of antique or modern, all the items are in really good presentation and repair as a whole considering it's a pawn shop.

"Her fingertips pluck at the collective of broken chains on the cloth atop the glass case where she stands behind it, wondering of Carver, "Were you looking for anything specific or just browsing? There's kind of a method to all this junk madness in here, but it's definitely not labeled with aisles like Walmart, so let me know, yeah?"

Carver doesn't seem so much to be appraising the items themselves, but the condition they're in, moving methodically along a shelf. He's definitely got that sheen of nebulous something else going on as he flips over a suprisingly well-crafted beckoning cat that waves in terror as he inverts the damn thing, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth before letting out a low whistle. "I was just browsing, love. You run a pretty tight ship here, everything's in good nick." You know, just in case she wasn't entirely sure he was a very out of place Brit. Gotta drive that nail home every chance you get.

"And I like it when things aren't labelled." Hey! Check it! Lilith finally gets some eye contact as he places the lucky charm back on the shelf, turning to take in the view of the proprietor with a practiced, casual smile and- Nope. Couldn't hide the wince. An admirable attempt, though. "Oh for fuck's sake." His tone is one of... resignation? "What is it with this town? You too?" There's a little shift in his shoulder that suggests he'd really like to shield his eyes, but while the wince escaped, that second urging at least stays under control for the moment.

Lilith pushes up to straighten, and whatever she was planning to do with those broken gold chains in front of herself is apparently put on hold, as she wraps the cloth over a couple of times with folding and leans to tuck it into the back of the case for stashing later work. Her phone is still playing music as she looks at the man again after that bout of busywork, Mumford and Sons at angst rally with guitar while she eyes him in lulling silence a bit more closely. She seems to be looking at him differently than she did the first time, the gaze less about his general physicality and attire and placement in the shop, though her fine features are fairly passive enough while the lyrics growl lowly from song play nearby.

"... so crawl on my belly til the sun goes down... I'll never wear your broken crown... I can take the road and I can fuck it all the way... but in this twilight... our choices seal our fate."

Abruptly, Lilith looks aside at her smartphone and hits a button to turn the music croon into silence because something about the way he just looked at her and commented in combination with the lyrical noise and meaning seems to rub her wrong, suddenly. But it's short lived. Once the music is silent, her head drifts in tiny shake before she breaks her own silence to finally make verbal response, "... you should work on that. Maybe sunglasses, but we don't have enough sunshine for that to be casual. You'd go presentation junkie mode or vampire incognito instead by all viewing sake. Probably the latter, especially with that outfit and accent."

Though she isn't really confirming much, there's a bare twitch of her lips before she leans to pull a tube of lip balm out for rubbing on with subtle flush and gloss. It really just seems like something to be doing with her hands, though, while she works out what to say next, "... what do I look like to you?"

The sound of Mumford and Sons could have been the cause of the wince, considering Carver's musical tastes. It wasn't, though. His hand tucks back into the pocket of his coat, thumb gently rubbing at the exterior fabric as it hangs free, and his eye-line focusing somewhere around counter-height while his other hand pulls out what seems to be a re-purposed mint or gum container that's popped open to send a couple of small white pills into his mouth. Oh, that's a practiced motion, for sure.

"I've already got a pair. They come in handy for the hangovers. And sometimes for making it really obvious that I'm not interested in talking to someone." Says the guy with his hands in his pockets and not making any eye-contact for a good half minute. There's probably not much more effect the sunglasses would have on top of that. "And please don't mention vampires, love. It's been one hell of a week already."

And then she asks direct. The man takes a readying breath, raises his head to let those almost-black eyes settle around her face, then pulls out his hand once more to spread out all of the fingers in a slightly rapid pulse. "Like someone's waving a sheet in front of a lighthouse. Fwoom. Fwoom. Fwoom." The pills are obviously setting in already. He can look at her for more than five seconds, for one. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess all your little knick-knacks here don't exactly arrive in the condition I'm seeing?" He raises a questioning eyebrow. It's a good eyebrow for questioning. He's probably used to doing it while wearing said sunglasses, after all.

"No. But there's not a lot of harm in restoration, so long as I'm careful about patina on occasional antique pieces." Lilith tells the man after standing a bit still once he's explained in reply to her inquiry, which seems to be a genuine curiosity despite the casually semi-cautious wondering. Her head tilts a smidge, as if trying to place him, but after a beat, that motion turns into tiny shake of dismissal, "I'm sorry, I've been gone a long time and just came back to town recently, so if we were acquainted before now when younger..." She clearly doesn't think that's the case, but it's a segway all the same, "I'm Lilith."

She tosses the lip balm back down into her purse under the register counter with a tiny hint of lean that doesn't quite take her eyes off of him. She's not quite hawk-eyeing him or anything, but there is a moderate sense of stranger danger about her that wasn't there before for some reason that doesn't seem linked to anything he's said or done. It's more in the vein where she's fine with him standing there, but is waiting for some other shoe to drop despite her dry and passive conversational calm.

The brunette takes in a breath, like she's about to say or ask something else, but opts against it after that split second indicator, letting him introduce back instead.

"Unless you've been to Wrexham in your youth, I think this is our introduction." Carver's soft smile is back. Or smug smile. It falls somewhere between the two that honestly could be either or both depending on how light frames his face. The soft tingling at the back of his brain is generally a good sign that the pills are working overtime to stave off his usual hangover. Really, man, drink some water. "Carver. Or Alistair. I only really answer to the first. Pleasure to meet you, pet." And, really, from his mannerisms, the slightly beckoning hand that seems a second from giving a thumbs up and the easy looks she's getting, he probably does actually consider it to be a pleasure.

His eyes drop from her face as the lip balm goes bye-bye, his tongue running along a few back teeth in almost an idle twinge that can't be stopped before it's happening. As for his mood, he's definitely feeling the 'stranger' part, but he's trying his utmost to quell any sense of danger. Naturally, he's failing. He's a British guy in Washington who did the social equivalent of booting the door in and saying 'BOY THAT'S A NICE HANDGUN IN YOUR PURSE.' Although if that fact bothers him? Not really showing much of it. It's possible, just possible, that he's grown tired of dancing around slightly strange topics by this point in his life.

"You can't leave me hanging like that, love. Breaths like that mean you've got a question to ask or you're about to boot me out of your store, and you're probably thinking I might still buy something right now." He might not be, but once his face is looking up once more, Lilith is totally getting Hawk-Eyed.

"Well..." Lilith starts pretty inarticulate after the introduction is made by Carver and part of her starts to relax to some degrees the longer she watches him and listens to him speak. After a pause, she twists her lips a little to one side with thoughtful pursing of consideration, as if trying to work out how to phrase for him. After that pause, she steps around from behind the glass case to put herself on more conversational level instead of official capacity, and when there, she hitches herself up into sit on the edge of it.

"It's just that you seem to have me at a disadvantage, because you can walk in here and make deductions about me based on what you see. That's not necessarily bad, it means you're perceptive beyond the ah. Bit I'm putting off at you, being who and what I am, and you seem pleasant enough. However. Since these things don't typically just blurt out and come up much for me and you suck at pretending to shop, I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're here for another reason. I could be wrong. I could be right, too, and it could just be simple draw and curiosity, nothing big. But given certain..."

She pauses here, then decides to continue with a little care, then no delicacy at all with turn around in the same breath, "... certain developments and issues others might be running into..." Her head tilts minutely and she's calm as can be with that directness, and firm, too, "I'm going to be blunt-- are you here to be an asshole and try to scare or schmooze me into something dark? Because no."

Watching Carver and listening to him speak is never really a great idea. Try not to make it a habit. From his pocket comes a packet of Lucky Strikes, about as battered and crumpled as the man himself, one of the contents being patted out to sit behind his ear as he listens to her throw compliments his way in the most roundabout fashion a human being can muster. His shoulder pressing up against a shelf as he takes a little cross-armed lean would probably suggest he's used to putting people a little on the back-foot with his usual social bull-rush technique.

"Look, pet. I could come in here and say 'Oooh, you've got some power about you, aintcha?'" Yes. He waggles his fingers in a totally threatening way. It's terrifying. British sarcasm doesn't work that well in hand gestures, but he's giving it a good go. "'But you're sometimes worried about using the bigger parts 'cause you're all gusto and little control.' And yeah, that general vagueness works. A lot." A shrug. His lips purse up. He's not even glancing at the items on the shelves. It's true, he totally sucks at pretending to shop. "But that'd be cold-reading and experience, nothing more. What are you? 24? 25? You'd have to be a right proper smug prick to be shining like you are and feel like you've got a handle on it."

His turn to take a small breath in, watching her face with a little appraisal for expression, and then taking a couple of steps forward to flick a card out between his fingers. "So lemme start from the top, if you don't mind. I'm Alistair Carver. I'm trying to stop you from being schmoozed into something dark." A beat passes. "Might still be scary, though. No promises."

"A little older, but close enough to take the sentiment about the arrogance of youth in power for what it's worth. And since I'm a woman getting close to thirty, I'll turn your estimate into a compliment too." Lilith makes quip to Carver while looking at the card he flicks out, reaching to take it after a moment for closer examination. Her feet dangle with brief knock against the case with her hitched up in sit like she is, and the rest of her guard, while it doesn't completely fall away, that backhanded feel of it gradually starts to drop away. She honestly just seems more careful about how she's reacting and speaking given subject matter now.

"Thank you, though. For cutting through the bullshit. I used to dance, but that's not the kind of dancing and fencing I like to much do." The brunette seems to not only tack this on genuinely, but as a permissive piece of interest for him to continue with his schtick. But not before piping in with commentary, "... and scary is a relative term, especially here."

"A little older? Surely not." Carver looks shocked. Shocked, I tells ya. There's even a hand on heart moment as he temporarily goes full southern belle. "But for what it's worth, I'm hitting 38 soon, and fuck knows I never lost the arrogance." As if that wasn't obvious. At least he's honest with himself. He doesn't really move from the shelf-lean he's going going on, but he seems to settle in a little more. The posture relaxes, some tension fades, the smile becomes a little less persona-presenting.

"You're welcome. I dance like an elephant that stood on a bunch of thumbtacks, so I try and avoid it as much as I possibly can. Getting to the point is easier for all involved." Wanna see Carver prove it? There's a little flicker in his brow that asks that question better than his words ever could. It's almost like a magic trick in how it works: Behold, a normal, if slightly odd topic focused conversation. Now, we just place a handkerchief over it, wave a hand, and- "Anything tried to eat you lately? Weird dreams? Promises of power? Wolves in the night?"

Ta-da.

Lilith sniffs audibly and all but rolls her eyes into the back of her head as the complimentary bullshit creeps up despite her own compliment on Carver playing otherwise, but she makes a dryly amused noise in her throat all the same. Leaning with her hands at either side on curl against the counter edge, she squints a little bit as her lashes drop to watch her feet knock around in idle dangle sway from her perched position, listening. Then abruptly, with a mingling of humor and general deprecation for this place or her certain way of being predicament, the brunette downright laughs. It's short and laden with huff that turns into a trailing sigh on the tail end that probably says enough. But she elaborates to a degree all the same.

"You're starting to sound like an infomercial, I shouldn't have thanked you. But sure. I've been back about three weeks and am plenty reminded of why I ran in the first damn place." She pauses here, "I've been told about beings that operate on behalf of a particular dark and apparently sentient entity, more or less, and the approach to someone I know. Which is exactly why I was eyeing you sideways when you came in ready to not only see what I was, but talk and dig about it on the relative spot. A recent boat trip was mass scale escalation of some bad, if I had to guess, when I put the two thoughts together. And of course, there's a slew of a million other things because I don't know much for sure, but I know enough from my own life and general physics that too much light makes deeper and longer shadows."

After her answer that is a bit of verbal speculation aloud and pretty forthcoming despite the lack of general details, she looks around the shop for a beat, then back at current company. Her mascara-darkened lashes cut some with not suspicion, exactly, but a bid for pre-emptive understanding, "... I feel like you're about to tell me matters will be worse and you aim to do something about that. Mm?"

"You're just laughing because you appreciated it." Carver throws back, joining in for a second at watching her feet idly sway. And then she's talking about dark things, and he's finally pulling away from the shelf. It can't be seen, but there's totally a line across his upper arm where the damn thing dug in. Which he'd complain about if his sleeping positions lately hadn't included 'Diner Booth' and 'Sawmill'. So, instead of complaint, there's an understanding expression and generalized nodding, watching the woman's face as she puts things together in her own words. The mention of him being side-eyed gets a little glance down at his own feet, before his face is rising up once more with a slightly appreciative look. It's the fact she was side-eyeing him for a reason, and not just his appearance. Okay, part of it was probably his appearance, but not all of it. And that's a victory.

"Oh, fuck no. If matters get worse I'm on the next greyhound out of here." That's right, Carver didn't need to summon any form of bullshittery for that one, offering the woman a slightly sheepish shrug but an honest smile. Or, whatever passes for honest when it comes to him. There's a few steps forward, a thumb rubbing at the side of his forefinger as he muses what kind of sentence he's going to put together to not seem so much like an infomercial. Which, really? Actually quite difficult for the guy. "I'm..." His eyes cast up to the ceiling for a moment, lips pursing together. Aha! Got it. His face says just that, lowering to look at her once more. "I guess I'm trying to say that... weirdly? Matters will probably get better. You've got some juice about you, Lilith. Some serious juice. I'm standing here and can basically feel it. All those things you talked about? They won't see you as a squirrel to snack on. They'll see you as a hedgehog. Get it?"

"... are you about to offer to be my British rumpled sensei of superpowers? Because -you- stand out just fine too. But admittedly... differently, somehow. I can't pin it. It's like you're steeped in it, but you're also... nothing's rumbling inside you waiting to come out, maybe, which... I don't know if that's sheer control or a general lacking. No offense." Lilith slips down from her seated position with a sudden slip of her eyes to the door when a shadow of figure comes up to it. She holds up a finger, because she doesn't seem alarmed so much as she recognizes and is expecting the general frame of that shadow. Of course, it helps that Hank Winslow is drunkenly singing Riding on the Desert on a Horse with No Name on the sidewalk while approaching. It's pretty bad.

Occupied a moment, she blocks the doorway to keep him from coming in, grabs the violin case he's holding, then slams the door in his face with agitated bell ringing, pointing warning 'no' at him like a dog from the other side of the glass. There's some matter of protest along the lines of him asking for just twenty bucks til Friday, and 'where's my hug o'daughter mine!' with dramatics, but the finger point seems to have done the trick of deterring enough and he leaves sulking, not singing.

Returning with the violin case, she puts it on the glass counter to pop open and check the contents with a sideways glance and brief mutter of 'dad' to Carver before she indicates the scuffs and broken curled strings and warping of wood from water damage on the piece inside, features pensive, "I can't leave. And I'm going to keep doing this. So what is it you propose I -do- about that hedgehoggery?"

One of the strings starts to unfurl and shine again with creep to connect where it snapped at the other side, as indication of what 'this' means in her sentence. But she just alters the one string, that 'more' about her shining briefly as result.

"Look, love. I'm all about the cliché, but that would be talking it a little bit far." Carver's easy smile falters after the slight diversion, thumbs tucking into his coat pocket as he gives a quick rock back and forth on his heels. "Ah. Yeah. That." That. "To save us from dancing, let me be blunt-"

And then the blunt is interrupted by the looming shadow of a fatherly figure, Carver stepping aside to let Lilith pass, watching her face far more than the singing man during the.. transaction? Weekly Occurrence? Mandatory Probation Check? Honestly, the options are up in the air. Thumbs leave his pockets, arms cross his chest, and his expression settles in to one of a remarkably familiarity. Oh, the drunk father making a visit is something he's experienced once or twice, by the looks of it. The 'dad' mutter even gets an 'I guessed' mouthing and a brief nod

And then he's too busy appreciating the work to continue with his little introduction, leaning a hand down on the counter as the string un-snaps. That's really the best word for it. And even though he's looking at the work being done, he's real glad he took those painkillers. "To be blunt-"

"I fuckin' died and now all his pipes are blocked."

Yup, that's Melissa, ghost, teen, hair-dyed pain in Carver's ass, sitting cross legged on the counter and watching the work as intently as anyone else. "He thinks that dark stuff you were talking about offed me proper, and doesn't like it happening to anyone else." The second sentence is whispered, almost conspiratorially, directly into Lilith's ear.

See, Lilith was totally cool this whole while, she was. While not being overly detailed and open, she was worked into a way of being forthcoming and easy enough about giving for back and forth of conversational exchange. And that's an accomplishment for the teenage girl still inside her that went goth and shut out every single person she cared about out over years and years to avoid their own casualty from her lack of control and understanding. She was even feeling a little proud about this admittedly strange exchange as an adult this time around having been the girl that wouldn't peep about the things she saw or heard or felt or did, overall.

She doesn't seem too rattled about Hank or her general situation either in the face, despite slip of her posture into quietly furious no-brokerage stance with that point at the door. But when that teenage ghost manifests to pipe in and speak confidentially, she's so busy looking at Carver a little dubiously, she hears it first and about comes unglued with jump, knocking the case and violin to the floor with yanking back sweep of hand where it rested prior on the case. Once she's reeled back with eyes wide for backpedal right into Carver himself, she stares, then she says, "Well -fuck-. THAT hasn't happened in a while. Who the hell-- why do-- blocked pipes sounds so dirty, I-- what?"

Oh, she seems to know what's going on fine once her brain catches up to the paranormal it's twisted to perceive in spells, but that doesn't at all mean she likes it. Keeping her distance, though, she seems willing enough to entertain a question once she can get it out, "... well did it?" And that, she asks the ghost.

It's an awkward as fuck catch that Carver makes. The violin case? A goner. That heads straight to the floor. The violin itself is somewhat barely grabbed by the head, twisting a couple of tuning keys and nearly losing his grip on the thing once he's being bumped into. The fact he catches it at all? Might lend some credence to the idea that he's become somewhat used to Melissa's habits. And the usual reaction it provokes.

"Sorry!" The two of them call out in unison, Carver's hands holding out the Violin, Melissa's holding out nothing but totally doing the hand wave 'Don't tell mom I hurt you you're okay' gesture that all siblings are innately know. "I'm Melissa! Dunno, It's not fun if it doesn't sound dirty, Yes." A moment, and the girl blows a strand of deep purple highlight from in front of her eye, propping two hands back to quote-unquote 'Lean' on the counter she's sat atop. "To answer your questions. in order."

Carver's just shaking his head. They had a thing going. Now it's this.

"Probably!" Oh, that would be to answer her last question, Melissa giving the most non-commital shrug ever summoned by someone living or dead. Her eyes are already bored of Lilith, glancing around the room at things people have sold for cash. Appropriately, those eyes linger on the lucky cat a little longer than anything else. "Dunno, though. Could have been a million and one different causes. But there was definitely some weird shit beforehand, Y'know?"

"Of course there was. And the hell of the matter is that even when you run from the weird shit, it still leaves the gouges while the mind lies and forgets and fills the gaps." The second part from Lilith seems to be sheer frustration and unbidden aloud, like she was thinking it (maybe because she was reconsidering how badly she -needs- to stay) and it just popped out with frustration. And that sudden bout of unwitting agitation and emotion, it's not really a good thing. Or maybe it's fine enough because no one gets hurt, but she basically sparks with slam of power. On automatic reaching to take the violin from Carver's savior hands, the strings start lashing back together and tightly into drawn place with autorepair at her touch, horrible cacaphony of resonating noise coming out of each one after. And the wood starts to gleam and snap back from bowing, the scuffs disappearing. Suddenly, she's holding a very shiny (and probably now-valuable) musical instrument.

Abruptly the power slams into shutdown tangibly and she sucks in a hiss before standing very still and staring between teen-ghost and the real live man, eyes wide. Her eyes slant toward the door like she's expecting something to come busting in, given subject matter, then gingerly with a clear of her throat, she puts the item into the case with squat down to reach where it fell, "... okay, that was an accident, I don't usually work that hard and fast on purpose. So uh." She pauses, "You two know each other, huh." Duh. She just doesn't have a lot else to ask now for the moment and leaves them to pick up the slack.

"No. Complete strangers."

It's said in unison and in stereo, reaching Lilith's ears in identical accenting but vastly differing octaves. Which is totally not unsettling. Sadly, it's also habit, so it's happened before Carver even has a chance to stop himself. Again, he's shaking his head. Mostly in exasperation at himself, partially in the same emotion but for Melissa's enthusiastic clapping at the fix-job Lilith just pulled off on a violin. Seriously, it's really, really enthusiastic. "Hard and fast and on purpose is the best way. Hard and fast by accident gets you eaten." She's says, still clapping and even slapping on a beatific smile even though those final eight words came out with a definite edge.

Carver, for his part? He's moved back to lean against a display. That little burst was enough to cause a dull throb in the back of his head as some whiskey gets a modicum of revenge, his arms crossing over his coat as he ponders for a moment. And then another moment. And then gives a very quick, very sharp "HEY." Ostensibly, it's to pull Lilith's attention away from the ghost. And also shoo the ghost. Really, it's a double feature. Melissa only likes to skedaddle when she's not being observed, after all. Another trait the two have in common. "So yeah, long story short I don't need another her on my conscience."

Lilith can't help it. The unison smartassery between living and dead to her lameass segway after a 'whoops' moment where she did the thing she's probably not supposed to do to avoid attention... while having a very poignant example chat about said consequences... it makes her snerk squatting there closing the case. Her brows knit, though, with the following advice words that come along with the clap from the enthusiastic Melissa-ghost at her display, and after squatting a little longer unnecessarily with holding pose to think visibly, she looks back at the doorway again.

Before she can formulate response, though, Carver is yelling "HEY" and she straightens with quickness and looks around a tick again with paranoia, the view of Melissa broken entirely. Because suddenly she says to the man once she he has her attention, "... why do you care? You don't even know me, how would it be on -your- conscience? It's not the same."

And that piece out of her comes out confused and softened, softer than anything else she's said or asked.

"Because." Carver offers little more than a shrug, his hand coming up to worry at the cigarette that remains tucked behind his ear. "I came here to look at some shiny junk, maybe sell some shiny junk, and maybe see what information I could get out of you." Again, blunt. He dances like a man with a broken ankle. At least he looks apologetic about it. Ish. "And instead I find some exceedingly shiny junk, an exceedingly shiny owner-" A forefinger comes up to point at the ceiling, hovering a little closer to her face than he'd intended. "Who, by the way, is the umpteenth person I've seen like that in a town this size. I was in New York two months ago and saw LESS." He also spent most of the time in libraries and warehouses, but that's beside the point he's trying to make.

He blinks. The train of thought escaped him for a second there. Brows furrow, face crunches up, and it's only during that pause does he realize how soft her voice went. Too little and too late, he exhales, lowering his own tone to match. "My dad also was a bit of a drinker. And I'm pretty sure I've got some sense of how you're feeling, what with the power and the slight fear that creeps in. That worry you're going to lose control." Y'know. He actually looks serious. For the first goddamned time. It's a little unfair to make light of his growth, but it deserves pointing out. "Especially with the noise of it all."

The cigarette is plucked from behind his ear, and held, spinning slightly between his fingers. "I've been there. It sucked. If I can help someone else out of it, maybe I'll feel less guilty."

Guilt. Lilith understands guilt. She carries a ton of it, willingly made it, all in tradeoff to keep others safe from her, she doled out deliberate hurt to avoid the other hurts she might not have control over. And standing there watching Carver with her shoulders somewhat dropping out of tension pose, paranoia fading in favor of focus on him and his words, it's written all over her. She's suddenly less wary, more at a loss after a lightning flash of understanding in her eyes.

Lifting a hand up, she pulls her hair down free like the ponytail is suddenly squeezing her head or making too much weight and after standing there lacing fingers through with wiggle and carding to straighten and smooth some of the kink out from banding, she confesses, "... I don't even know what all I -can- do. I did something trying to save someone dear to me yesterday that I-- I can't even explain. And I feel better prepared this time around. I've solidified how to feel, I'm not a kid anymore. But I'm still scared I'll break someone. And I can't help but wonder if I lost my window to learn to control it right, to know, to accept supportances through."

She draws in a huge breath and draws her eyes up from where she took to staring at the floor, looking at the man semi-searchingly, "... what could you do? Before your... pipes blocked?"

Carver understands gin. He carries a ton of it, willingly accepted, all in a tradeoff to-Wait no, that's guilt too. Technically, it's both. Using one to stave off the other. It's pretty difficult for the darker sides of the veil to latch on to your more troublesome emotions when you numb them slightly through a soft haze of apathy. Only slightly. It'll bite him in the ass one day. His tongue runs along the front of his teeth when she admits her uncertainty, brushing it away with a soft smile and a shake of the head. "You good, there? Got all that out?" Despite the words, there's an honest, supportive question in there, his head tilting slightly to the side as she's taking in her huge breath to look up at him.

"It's never too late to learn. If you think your window's shut, open a door. That's what they're there for." A moment. His lips purse a touch. "Or brick the window, I guess. Anyway, point is, gentle practice never hurt anyone, and I personally-" Yup, brushing the lapel of his coat and everything. "Like to think I've a pretty good idea of how folks work. You're like... energy, right? Take it apart, put it together?" He almost, almost says 'That's your jam.'

"That's your jam?" God damn the man and his weak will. "I-..." The longest pause yet at that, eyes dropping to her chin as she asks. "Christ. I could regrow or repair something from... basically nothing. Shield myself. Set things on fire. Thr-" The nsotalgia's cut short. "I... I could do a bunch. But that doesn't matter any more." Have you ever seen a weak thumbs up? It's pathetic. But somehow endearing. "'Those who can't do-', and all that."

"Yeah. I'm... really really really good at destroying things. I can put them back, sure, but it's not the same level of ease, and the fires and the-- things I can do to hurt people... people aren't things. Potted plants used to die just because I was in the room. I'm -scared- to try to put them back together because I'm so good at the opposite and I have so little control over what I don't -know- in my bones how to do. What if I slip and it turns the other way? It's so..." Lilith listens to Carver and swallows down after a little nod at his words here and there with acceptance or understanding in brief at various points.

Then she looks at him consideringly, like she can't decide if she envies him or feels bad for his 'blocked pipes' or 'bricked window' at the same time. Of course, then after all that spilling and looking relatively vulnerable to a more or less stranger in that moment, it's not settling well with her little vent worry session done and she shakes her head abruptly and bucks right the fuck back up.

She takes up the case to walk around and stash behind the counter after eyeing the place where Melissa ghost sat before, then she says after leaning over and straightening to do that, "... I'm sorry. About... Melissa. Or well. You know. Listen..." She thinks for a moment and returns to that lean on the counter she was in when he first arrived, propped on forearms against the lit glass display, "I think you're pretty okay. Weird and nosy and maybe a little pushy, but..." Her lips slant up with the first real semblance of good nature smile that's happened since he came in, "I'm going to think about this. I might have questions since you're kind of my sensei now. Your number is on the card, right?"

"Everyone's different." Carver admits, taking her information and worry both in simiar stride, resting a hand back on the display he's leaning against as she talks about the worry and concern. "How they do it, where their control comes from. I'm not saying I'll actually help, but I'm down for trying." Behold, a hopeful smile! It's probably hopeful because he's tucked his cigarette up into the corner of it, to be honest.

And then Lilith's moving, so Carver's standing upright, having accepted the quick appraisal with all the grace of a crumpled up paper bag, his eyes following her as she packs up the case and offers an apology on par with... well, most loss-based apologies. A little stilted and unsure, but the heart's in the right place. "Thanks. It's appreciated." And then she's calling him weird, nosy and pushy. So, y'know. How's that for whiplash. "I'll have you know I ply my trade solely on weird, nosy and pushy. If I didn't, you'd have had a real boring half hour."

And then a lighter's out of his pocket, spinning around his fingers like the cigarette did before. A nod. And a smile at the smile. They're usually contagious, you know. Unless it's Carver starting it. "Not sensei. Weird, pushy guy that might be able to help. I take my title very seriously. And yeah." He says, slowly giving a turn to head towards the door. "Number's on there. Pleasure meeting you, Lilith!"

Get out while they're still smiling. The Alistair Carver way.

Lilith isn't entirely sure that she was actually a pleasure for him to find no matter how charming she might have been or not been at any given point and she kind of looks dubious for a beat once the door is closed and she's made call after, "... it would have been very boring." Whether she preferred it that way is up for debate, but the lacing good-nature and vague humor in her words at least indicates she found things a suitable level of interesting, dire aside. "Happy meets and all that jazz, Carver. Take care."

Then after eyeing the violin case for a moment under the counter once he's gone, she picks up her phone to turn the music back on because suddenly, there's just too much silence.

Later, around Midnight... from her loft, Lilith picks up her phone to glow through the dark of the room and she does the one thing she'd never do before when she was tossing and turning. She reaches out.

(TXT to Byron) Lilith: You're asleep, aren't you. Business persons have things like demands of appointment, don't they?
(TXT to Lilith) Byron: I'm enjoying a glass of wine right. Thinking about heading to bed. Early morning and all. What's up?
(TXT to Byron) Lilith: Do you know Alistair Carver?
(TXT to Lilith) Byron: Can't say that I do. What I can say is: That has to be made up.
(TXT to Byron) Lilith: He's British. Maybe that explains the name. Anyway. He came by the shop earlier to... see me. And by see me, I mean he was pretending to shop and look at me. I feel like he was drawn here. Or that he noticed things, but either way I was much more than he expected. We... had a rather lengthy and in-depth conversation that was strange but...
(TXT to Byron) Lilith: We can talk about that later. He's weird and nosy and kind of pushy about things other people wouldn't normally jump to conversation about, but I think he's pretty okay, given how it ended. And I think you'd like to hear things he had to say. Mostly, though, I can't sleep because I think I did something stupid. And if I -did- I think... I might be getting a visit like Geoff did. Which is concerning. So listen.
(TXT to Byron) Lilith: If I disappear, I didn't leave. I didn't run. Okay?
(TXT to Lilith) Byron: How do we know that this Aleister. Carver. isn't like the visitor Geoff got? You're at your shop now?
(TXT to Byron) Lilith: I was very careful with him at first, thinking that, but Geoff explained where we... ah. Shine, they have nothing but shadow. Right? And this guy... well. I mean, he is -different- the way he looks and feels, because of what has happened to him or what he's done. He used to be like us, but he turned it all off. Or it was all turned off for him. I'm not sure which, entirely. But I'm pretty sure that's not what he was, at all.
(TXT to Byron) Lilith: And I'm upstairs in the loft at the shop at home, not out on the shop floor.
(TXT to Byron) Lilith: I guess I forgot to tell you I don't live in a trailer now and had them add this in the rebuild.
(TXT to Lilith) Byron: I still don't like the sound of that. Look, I'll drive by and pick you up, okay? You can stay at my place. I have a guest room.
(TXT to Byron) Lilith: It's probably fine, or as fine as things can be, but... I flared so hard in one moment and repaired a violin from tatters into something that looks like a Stradivarius in three seconds flat, it... might be a good idea. Just in case. You aren't going to sleep right otherwise now that I've went and dropped this, more importantly. Bring it.
(TXT to Lilith) Byron: I'll be right there. I'll let you know when I'm near so you know that it's me.
(TXT to Byron) Lilith: Okay. I guess I'll put on pants. Is it wrong I'm 'ugh' about that of all things right now? I think it is.
(TXT to Lilith) Byron: Heh. Just hang tight. Pants or no.