2019-06-28 - Pawn or Queen

Rebecca Carr doesn't look like she belongs in a pawn shop. The impeccably dressed young woman has not a single blonde hair out of place, and her makeup is perfectly applied. She's in a minidress with a black and white checkered sleeveless bodice, and a sky blue skater skirt, with ankle boots and simple jewelry. Her purse is Coach, and those boots are Madden Girl. Why is she here? Looking for d�cor on the cheap for her apartment. The first things to go when people pawn, are things that aren't needed. She pokes about at the art hanging on the walls with a considering eye.

Itzhak, however, looks right at home amid the maze of interesting, or not-so-interesting, objects. A tall dude in a ribbed undershirt, jeans, steel toe boots, and tattoos, he's investigating the selection of stringed instruments that aren't behind glass. Picking up a mandolin, he messes with it, trying desultorily to tune it, then strumming it. The mandolin makes an awful discordant twang and Itzhak grimaces.

His grimace is echoed by Rebecca and her pert little nose wrinkles in distaste. "You'll likely find better at a music store. They usually resell used instruments that weren't beaten to death by their previous owners," she points out. She pulls out a handkerchief to pick up a foot tall ceramic chess Queen in white, likely part of a lawn set that was stolen or broken up. She smiles a bit. These are the sorts of treasures she is hunting.

"I ain't lookin' for something playable, necessarily," Itzhak says, in a startlingly strong New York accent. He sounds like he took a wrong turn in Manhattan and somehow wound up in the Pacific Northwest. "More somethin' to fix. Strings are bad, anyway. Cheap, corroded." Also, he takes a total stranger talking to him in stride. He glances over at Rebecca, taking in her fine clothes and the impeccable way she's put together.

The blonde is looking over the piece carefully, without getting any of the dust on her, which might be impressive. Rebecca turns it over to make sure it's not some sort of long lost artifact of value, and smirks to find a nationwide chain logo etched on the bottom. That gives her room to haggle if necessary. She seems to realize she's being assessed in some manner, and cool blue-grey eyes turn to regard the man. "What do you need the instrument for, then?" she asks curiously. "By the accent I'm guessing you're not a local either?"

Itzhak's eyebrows go up. "Just somethin' fun to repair. I can strip it of this thick damn varnish, neck's twisted, I can adjust the truss rod. Maybe carve it some flowers or inlay or something if I really want to get crazy. You play?" His hands are roaming over the mandolin while he talks, testing this and tweaking that. One of the plastic pegs crumbles under his fingers. "Ugh. Well, that's easy to fix." He kinda snorts, at the question. "What gave it away."

The question gets a quirk of a smile from Rebecca and she shakes her head, perfectly coifed hair bouncing back into place. There is a sense of amusement from her that seems to sweep over him. "No, not a note. My strengths lie elsewhere, mostly in organization and administration. I'm a problem solver and personal assistant for a pastry chef who recently moved here."

Itzhak squints a little, as if the sense of amusement is a stiff breeze blowing into his face. Something about his body language goes stilted. "Yeah? I solve problems, too. Like this." He holds up the poor mandolin. "This is definitely a problem and I can solve it. Where'd ya move from?"

"Southern California. I spent a year in France between high school and college though." Rebecca carries the chess queen over to the checkout and sets it down in a spot she seems to have a collected a few other odds and ends of d�cor. All things that with a little cleaning and a good sense of composition, could make for nice decorating. "Repurposing things is very in fashion right now, so that's a good way of thinking Mister...?" she asks, arching a brow.

Itzhak watches Rebecca go about her task with an expression of increasing concern and doubt. "In fashion. Right. I just like fixing things. Uhm. It's Rosencrantz. ...Itzhak," he adds, like his first name is an afterthought. "Nice to meet you. Great outfit, by the way." He eyeballs Rebecca's little collection. "You sure got good taste, huh?" Which he says like he might say that she's got toilet paper stuck to her shoe.

"Rebecca Carr," the blonde replies as an introduction. "And thank you. Fashion and decorating are kind of a hobby of mine. I have a little blog about it even," she notes, seemingly happy to be complimented. "What do you do for a living, Mister Rosencrantz? Is there a Guildenstern as well?" She grins, literary joke!

Itzhak snorts. "Never heard that one before," he deadpans. "Do me a favor, don't call me Mr. Rosencrantz. Makes me feel like I'm talking to--" whatever he was going to say, he derails in a hurry. "To--to--a high school counselor. You know, the one always tellin' me I was wasting my potential. Anyway, hi, Rebecca Carr." He pronounces her last name 'Cah'. "I'm a mechanic. Not so glamorous."

"Interesting. I don't have a vehicle yet, but I will likely be needing one sooner rather than later. Do you have a garage in town?" It's always good to have a mechanic you know. Rebecca pulls out her phone to take down the information if he provides some.

"Yeah, everyone needs a car here. Ain't like New York. Everything's far apart." Itzhak kvetches a little, sliding into complaining with the ease of long practice. He flips the mandolin upside down, still getting to know it before he decides whether it's worth the effort. And maybe focusing on it because Rebecca's interest in him is making him nervous. "Uh. Yeah, I got a garage. There's a couple few places that're good, though. Not just mine." He tells her the information anyway, an address on the outside of town.

"Excellent. I'd rather give you the business, since you complimented me on my fashion sense," Rebecca quips with a merry lyrical tone to her voice. "Besides, we need to stick together. I get the impression that townies don't view us quite as well as we'd like. We're outsiders here." She puts the phone back in her Coach purse and smiles. "Do you know much about Gray Harbor? I've only really heard the pitches by the real estate set when I was scouting locations for Chef Vydal."

Itzhak laughs, a funny little scoff. "If only I knew that was the secret to drumming up business." He wobbles a hand in the classic 'not so much' gesture. "Came out here to take over the garage, for a friend. Brand new in town, actually, so nah, I don't know nothin'." However he rattles this off with the smoothness of a lie. "You're the first person really talked to me so far." But that part sounds honest.

Rebecca snorts, but for her it's very ladylike. "Well, it's their loss. I wasn't born into money and the like. I just happened to luck out with this job. Worked my ass off to get here, so I appreciate anyone who works hard for what they have."

"They do kinda got a problem with outsiders. Especially one who sounds like me, I guess." Itzhak's half embarrassed and half warming up some. Oh no, counter compliments, his greatest weakness. "Ya weren't?" he says, surprised that Rebecca wasn't born in the upper class--then he flushes. "I just mean. You're so classy. Seemed natural."

That gets a laugh from the blonde. "I picked up all this class in France that year, and I polished it in college. I learned to budget shop for designer things in second hand shops, on ebay, and all that." Rebecca reaches into her purse and pulls out a business card, handing it to him. Simple, clean, just her name, email, phone, and Personal Assistant for a title. "I don't really know anyone here yet, so if you want to hang out or play tourist some time, I could probably use the company."

Itzhak clears his throat. "France, they invented class, right?" He accepts the business card, tucks it into a pocket of his jeans. "Uh--sure," he says, trying to hide that he's startled she wants to hang out. "You like fiddle? I'm tryin' to find where the scene is in this town for fiddle."

"I'm not adverse to fiddle," Rebecca replies. "I can't claim to know much about it, though. I think there is a bar or tavern called the Pourhouse. It's over on Spruce Street I believe. That might be a proper place to find live music at least."

"I'll check it out. Scout out the place, yannow? Make sure it's good enough for ya." Itzhak finally smiles a little, lopsided, only one side of his mouth. "Maybe I can play for you."

Rebecca smiles, "I'd like that." Then she leans in conspiratorially, putting a hand to the side of her mouth. "What do you think about video games?" she asks in a hushed whisper, as if what she's asking is utterly SCANDALOUS!

Itzhak leans in too, echoing Rebecca instinctively to hear her secret. Then he really laughs, shooting her an amused and mischievous glance. "Pretty good, video games. Playing a lotta Destiny 2 right now. How 'bout you?"

"League of Legends mostly for PC, but also playing Red Dead Redemption on Playstation. Don't tell anyone. It's my secret passion," Rebecca whispers back, with a grin.

Itzhak admits, laughing, "I really liked Red Dead 2. Riding horses and growin' beards." He flashes a much more open smile at Rebecca. "Won't tell a soul. My secret passion is music, but I guess that ain't so secret. Now we're even."

"You forgot getting trampled by deer and kicked in the head by your horse," Rebecca notes with a chuckle. "And yes, we're even. I should get my purchases sorted and head out though. I have an early morning meeting tomorrow. It was really nice to meet you Itzhak." She smiles genuinely at the man.

"A lot of that, too." Itzhak spreads his hands (one still holding the neck of the mandolin). "Great to meet ya, Rebecca. Call me when you wanna talk about gettin' a car, yeah? Or, just, you know. Call me."

"Will do," Rebecca gives him one last smile, then goes to pay for her things and depart.