2019-10-31 - Positively Freudian

Most of Gray Harbor is either out celebrating Halloween or still preparing for it. A town like this, it's better to embrace the weirdness on this given holiday than ignore it, when all phenomenon can be enjoyed because it can be explained away. Cristobal is not among them. No, rather he is hiding in Memento Mori, taking up an oversized club chair with an outstretch of long legs as he rubs his hands in admiration over the tufted soft leather arms. He appears to already have made a purchase and it's stuck down in a plastic bag by his thigh.

Dante hit a point in his research where he needs a physical book and the internet or an ebook just won't cut it. Normally, he would have called Elias and asked to order it, but this is a book emergency and it can't wait. On the off-chance that the used bookstore-slash-antique store would have it, he enters Memento Mori. He's rather oblivious was he starts to to paw through the books , searching for just the right one. He isn't quite as perfectly put together, which for him means a slim-cut black suit with a pale blue tee(!) underneath. Still a pocket square. Always a pocket square. And always stylish shoes. He's so focused on pawing through the books that he hasn't yet spotted Cristobal.

And yet Dante's appearance has been noted by at least one person. Cristobal's crystal blue eyes have been tracking him for the last few moments as he seems to contemplate the rather hefty price tag for the vintage piece of furniture.

"So what do you think, English?" Comes the rise of his voice over the quiet hush of the store. "Do you think this chair is 'me'? Sort of feel like I should be smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of brandy, but I bet that's more your schtick." At least the words are tempered at the edges with a grin, instead of a jagged barb the man would usually lob.

It takes Dante a second to realize he's being addressed as he's so focused on digging through the shelves. But then he looks over when he realizes there's no one else in this particular corner of the store. He blinks. "Oh I don't know. That's a chair a man would threaten to break kneecaps from. It works for you in that regard."

Cristobal rounds his hands over the curve of the arms. "Nope." He declares and stands promptly. "If I'm going to drop my left nut on this price tag, I need a second opinion. Do me a solid and have a seat. Tell me what you think. Seriously, I value your thoughts. C'mon."

"This feels suspiciously like a trap," says Dante. He stands in front of Cristobal, one hand in the pocket of his suit, one eyebrow lifted. "How would you have made the decision if I hadn't happened along, in that case?"

Cristobal says, "How can it be a trap, if I didn't know you'd happen along." Cris smile turns a little bit wry, the tip of his tongue capping a canine. Maybe just enough to make Dante doubt it, or enough to at least own the reputation he's intent on sowing." Contrary to Dante, he's not so finely dressed. Just in a low slung pair of jeans and a dark grey sweater he's pushed up at the elbows. "And normally I'd flip a coin, and silently regret which ever way it landed. Now please?" He steps aside, offering the chair with a sweep of his hand."

"Crime of opportunity," says Dante as he eyes the chair, eyes Cristobal. "I don't trust you. I sit on that, and the seat gets ripped out of my suit. Or a stain gets transfered. Or something equally as devious." Despite his words, the corners of his lips tug up. "You don't like me very much. Why would you care about my opinion on this chair?"

"Aw, don't take it personally. I don't like anybody. Easier that way, you know." Which sounds almost like a confession if Cris didn't quickly tack on for show, "Less Christmas cards to make out. Look, you're...you." He indicates the way the man is dressed, "And I'm, well. Me. So if anyone knows about a fine leather library chair, it's bound to be you. Otherwise it's a waste of a fucking pocket square."

"My speciality is suits, not home decor," says Dante. Then he grunts and looks at the piece in question. "You don't buy something like that for comfort, in any case. It's aesthetics. Do you like the way it looks?" he asks, leaning a touch into Cristobal's space.

"Suits." Cris' finger draws down the inside of Dante's lapel, skimming it away from his underlying shirt. "Some kind of tailor? Of course, I like the way it looks, I wouldn't have even sat in it if I didn't like the way it looks. And who the fuck pays that much for a chair without the intent to sit in it? Never mind, if you don't want to test it out for that, then bend over the back of it so if I can figure out if it's the right height for plowing." Of course it's Cristobal's own fault that Dante doesn't trust him worth a damn, but it's clearly starting to frustrate him.

"Oh, that one could have worked if you would've put a little more effort into it." Dante chuckles softly. "Fine. But if this rips the ass out of my pants, you're paying for them." He brushes past Cristobal to sit into the chair, carefully. The sitting reveals colourful socks, because of course.

"Tell you what, you convince me to buy this chair, and I'll let you be the first to do the home test." Cris' gaze dips down and back up with a little coquettish flirtation. Nothing, as point of fact, untoward happens to Dante as he sits. It is, in fact, just a standard club chair with down filled cushions though there is a crinkle of the bag that Cristobal forgot in his haste.

"Am I a chair salesman now?" Dante shifts suspiciously when he hears the crinkle. He pulls out the bag and peeks into it, perhaps expecting a bag filled with excrement or something. It is Halloween, which means it's poop in paper bags time of year. "Is this yours?"

Cris hooks his thumbs into curved edge of his jean pockets, weighing the already sagging pants down further on his hip. "Guess that depends if the shop owner wants to give you a commission." Inside the bag is a leather-bound copy of the Velveteen Rabbit, the spine lettered in gold foil. Not poop, unless you're not a Margery Williams fan. "Oh. Uh. Yeah."

"A classic," says Dante. There's no judgment there. In fact, there's a hint of a smile. He stays seated for a moment, then checks the price tag, then stands. "If I were you, I'd negotiate a better price than is listed if you're truly serious about purchasing." He reaches out and presses the bag with the book in it against the other man's chest.

"I needed it for...whatever." Cris mumbles as he lifts a hand to hold the packaged book to his sternum. "People are always willing to negotiate when you're willing to pay cash. Not having to report a sale to Uncle Sam is a great motivator. But I'm thinking you miiiight be too tall." His head tilts slightly. "Can you..bend your knees a little? I need a better visual."

"A better visual of what?" Dante asks, head tilting. And then, wryly, "I've never had complaints about my height before." He straightens, squares his shoulders, and slides a hand down the edge of his lapel. His look to Cris is vaguely challenging but not in a 'punch me' sort of way.

Cris deadpans a look to Dante before that same look is given to the chair. Then back to Dante. He's not going to draw a more clear road map than that about the previous reference to bending someone over the back of it. "Definitely not a complaint. So what are you here for anyways? Besides expanding your Gentlemen's portfolio from tailor to stately furniture salesman."

"I had a sudden and visceral need for a book. But alas, they don't seem to have it." Dante draws out the word 'visceral' while looking Cristobal in the eye. "So it seems I may have to succumb to the evils of Amazon or wait for a special order. It was a long shot in any case. And I can't get a library card as I'm not officially a resident." He rocks on his heels. "All very exciting. And you? Come for the Velveteen Rabbit, then seduced by antique furniture?"

"There's something to be said for getting lost in the stacks." Cris rumbles out his response, a bit throatier after that emphasis on the word visceral, his fingers drumming on the plastic cloaked cover of his book. "I had a sudden and visceral need for some furniture, now that I decided to stay in Grey Harbor my apartment was looking a little empty. Besides a bed and a table and chairs which is currently my ofrenda. First step masculine chair. Next, a sofa. And I'm not seeing an IKEA around here."

"Antique furniture will last you a lot longer than IKEA. Or so I'm told. I actually do not, in fact, know very much about home decor. I spend all my money in my closet and tend to leave my living quarters rather spartan." He glances back at the chair, glances at Cris. "Though I don't know if I see that one as totally you. I could see you in a secondhand Le Corbusier. All brown leather and Mid Century vibes."

"Says the man. Who doesn't know much about home decor." Cris points out the irony rather dryly about that advice. "But fine. You convinced me. Chair can continue collecting dust, so much for your commission and your field test opportunity. I don't suppose you know where to find one of these Le Core Bustiers, huh?"

"Sadly, no. But they look like this..." Dante pulls out his phone. Naturally, it has a sleek and elegant low-profile case and there are no scratches or dings at all in the glass. He brings up a picture of a very modern chair with silver tube construction. It's very boxy and very masculine. "I'm sure you could find a low-cost approximation. They're classic."

"Typical." Cris says as he bends his head to look at the image on the phone, "Dangle the unattainable in front of my nose and then tell me I should settle for the imitation." There is a cluck of Cristobal's tongue as he hoists up his book. "I should get this back. Thanks for being a guinea pig." Was that a true offer of gratitude? Might be better if it wasn't delivered with Cris using that book to attempt a swat at Dante's ass.

"That sounded positively Freudian," Dante drawls. He makes a little startled sound at the book swat. "Careful. You might damage the book." His sharklike grin appears.