Feather Duster

[Sovay]

Beams of sunlight trickled in through the gaps of towering things, casting odd shadows and glowing trails that illuminated the countless billions of dust particles. From floor to ceiling there was stuff. Anything imaginable was there, and quite possibly some things that were beyond imagination, hiding there in the clutter. People even joked that Jimmy Hoffa might very well be in there, somewhere buried under the mass. Books were jammed in next to each other, unorganized, and then more books laid on top of them to fill the gaps. Ancient silver teapots that desperately needed polishing sat on odd angles , stacked teacups and saucers ready to fall over if anything was touched. Records, white dresses that had browned with age, toys so old that their owners had been forgotten and dust and left only their dollies to remember their stories. A glorified storage shed. As Time Goes By Antiques & Curiosities.

In ancient times great kings were often buried with their belongings and greatest treasures, but the little store in D.C. held not the treasures of any one man or king, but several, some things more than a hundred years old. The store itself was old and in the historic district where every season hundreds of tourists walked by, peeped in the windows, and occasionally bought something. It was an old brick building with great white pillars in front and repaired wooden shutters on all the many windows, built more years ago than any resident in the area could remember, except one, and she hadn't been in the area at the time except to collect the soul of a worker who had died while building another house nearby.

The old Victrola turned up loud, Sovay was in the old curiosity shop that afternoon, alone as she sat behind the large glass display counter to polish some silver. Afternoons were often quiet in the shop, which the former angel didn't mind in the slightest. Mr. Lane had come in that morning, wrinkled arms bearing splintering old crates that had been packed with straw and padded with old linens, the old man quite proud of this new cache of silver that came in the form of a full tea set. Despite the warmth of the old radiator's heat, Sovay simply rolled up her long sleeves and tied her hair back neatly, spending most of the day polishing the set to display it, and if she still had time there was so much of the store's two floors she had yet to finish cleaning and organizing. Mr. Lane often talked about her sorting things to actually make a proper inventory. That day had yet to come, and they both knew it probably never would. No matter.

The overture of the second act of Swan Lake burst out and hummed off the old metal horn, Sovay humming along with Montreal's orchestra contentedly. So many days were like there, spent in the musty old shop and working casually. Mr. Waters paid her at his insistence, but Sovay really would have been just as content to do the work for the sake of doing it. It was hard to stay so still, stay in one place for so long. How did humans stand it? Yes, sometimes she'd be in one place for days reaping, but those occasions were few and blessedly far between until more recent years in the world. But staying so still, forgotten in this musty place... Sovay was grateful, if not a little afraid that she'd end up like the dusty and crumbling objects and simply fade away to nothing and be forgotten with them. The whole world was out thee, waiting. She'd seen it. Sovay had watched it for years, for centuries! But in that existence Sovay had never been allowed to experience it firsthand; the sunshine here was warm, not because there was no sunshine in Heaven, but because she couldn't feel it there. There were so many people here, their thoughts and hearts now hidden from her, everyone their own little mystery and puzzle waiting to be solved. How did anyone ever manage to be bored? For what it was, the menial tasks the girl had been given were something of a thrill in their own way; in the millenia since Sovay had been brought into existence, this was only the second time she'd ever polished a tea pot.

But Sovay missed the company. Heaven was austere, but she never noticed feeling lonely. She missed Cassadriel the most, and wondered if the watcher angel kept tabs on her or not, or if he was even allowed. Had he been punished for keeping her secret? Or had he been the one who tattled to the archangels? It hardly mattered now, but she did miss him and nightly prayed for his well-being above her own. Despite Sovay's contained enthusiasm, she held little hope for ever going home and seeing her companion again. Customers were rare and bribed with tea by the fallen angel, not in hopes of them spending money, but spending time with her. Mr. Lane didn't stay in the shop day and night as he had before- he came in to check on things, get sales numbers, and bring new things to be sold. Other than that, Sovay was mostly on her own there, her little bedroom up in the attic where the old servants quarters had been, and Sovay too put off by the kitchen to use it unless she absolutely had to. Customers would chat with her absently, but this week there had been so few, and one even to sell items. But the sun was warm that day, and the gaggles and herds of tourists had been thin. Sovay sighed. Surrounded by the dust of antiquity, it was shaping up to be another quiet day alone.

(Feb. 14, 2012,
11:38am,
As Time Goes By Antiques, DC)

[Detective Ave]

Nice legs on that one. Long, pale, no scars. He liked the tinge of black stockings bringing out the white. Ah, winter, taking away the fake tans daily. They dropped like flies. Only downer was the lack of skin-shedding. Even cleavage was hard to come by in the cold months. Who the fuck came up with the idea of making Valentine's Day in the dead of winter anyway?! Some dipshit fool who couldn't get laid prolly. It really was a shame. Even so, that didn't stop the select few from prancing around the city in short skirts and belly shirts. It wasn't attractive seeing the goosebumps on their bellies though... Avery sighed. Unfortunately V-day this year was on a weekday. While some schools gave off or threw festivities, real men had to work. Like dogs. He pulled his sherlock hat down over his reddened ears and rubbed his hands together. Should have brought gloves. Of course he forgot the important things. Because reading this map definitely wasn't. Especially when he could just look it up on his iPhone. Ah, the wonders of technology. He occasionally still reveled in it. With one swipe, he could access the criminal database or the DMV and feast on all the names, fingerprints, and licenses listed. Right now, he just wanted to read this fucking map.

In the area, there were six kniveries (was that even a word?), two flea markets, and one antique shop that could potentially have sold a murder weapon. That's right, folks. A murder weapon. He turned the map upside down and squinted at the fuzzy lines like they were dust bunnies. He was going to bet his money on the antique shop, there was only one of those and more of them. Or more accurately, he was going to go to the place there was only one of. He was lazy, and he wanted to get laid at least twice before the day ended--three if he was lucky (and he was always lucky). Avery Sax was certainly one of the luckiest men in DC. In fact, just the other day, he was removed from a casino for (and I quote) 'winning too much' at Black Jack. He never counted cards, and he wasn't about to start then. It was just pure, innocent skill. Lady luck smiled brightly on this man, and damn was she hot.

Speaking of hot women, one was killed last night. Not that she was-- Okay, that sounded wrong, fine. It wasn't that way! He was just on scene and happened to notice a photograph of her and her fiancee and note her appearance. Considering her body was mangled and tarnished with knife wounds, it was hard to decipher much of anything on her face let alone that she had looks. While he was determining great endeavors such as these, forensics concluded that the weapon used was indeed a knife--a certain kind of technical knife that was common in the 40's as a Thanksgiving Turkey-chopping utensil. Today, it was being used to carve of a pretty girl's face. Tell that to the producers. Her name was Aya and she was a Japanese 1st generation immigrant. What was with Asian people and being so appealing!? Black hair, brown eyes, multiple lacerations, dead on scene, those were just the basics. By just wandering the house, Avery, still drunk from the night before, was able to discern basically her entire life's story. He parents were still in Japan, obviously didn't agree with her marrying an American. Her fiancee was a bigwig corporate asshole who really didn't deserve anything let alone a sexy waifu. What more, she was an only child, favorite color was purple, had a thing for lace, always made her bed, loved cooking meatballs, put ketchup on her hamburgers, ate raw eggs over rice, had three best friends (all whom she worked with and were too upset to effectively answer any questions), had no enemies, was well-liked, and so forth. There was a plethora of details in everything; you only needed eyes to see it. This is was Ave saw...while tipsy off his ass. This was why he didn't have a partner.

And right now, he sure could use one. Once he figured out the map, he concluded that the name of the antique shop he was going to look into first was entitled: As Time Goes By Antiques & Curiosities. It sounded like a place his grandmother wouldn't even go, even so, it probably had neat things. Ave liked old things--old things and new. He wasn't choosy, but it was always fun picking apart something's story. Even the smallest things spoke. It was like that weird Japanese religion Shintoism, EVERYTHING IS ALIVEEEEE! God, if the wall had eyes... everything would be horny. He shuddered at the thought, horrified by how mislead his thoughts had become. Shaking it away with the onslaught of cold, lung-stinging wind, he began on foot his long tread to the shop.

Five minutes later, he arrived. It was probably only a block away. The mechanical chick on his iPhone told him it was one and three quarters and RECALCULATING. Conclusion: she was a useless bitch. Thus, map. A croaked jingle blabbered about when the foggy glass door opened via numb hand, and in approached a master in disguise. He feathered through the books, nonchalantly whistling an old jazz tune over the horrid, fuzzy rendition of Swan Lake from the 1920's. Still, he didn't mind the atmosphere or the lack of gorgeous women wearing no clothes, fanning him and feeding him grapes. Because he didn't like grapes. They were purple. A clanking sound was cacophoning from the other side of the store, probably the owner, an old man. Mr. Lane his name was. Research, research, research. He has no living relatives. Actually, if he were a criminal, he'd pick this exact spot with which to purchase his murder weapon. Lane probably couldn't remember five minutes ago let alone the face of a customer-potential-killer, which proved difficult for Ave. He noted already there weren't any cameras. He guessed they were probably VHS and were so out-dated that they broke down and weren't worth bothering to repair.

"Hey there?" Ave called over the music and hurring of the fluorescent lights. "I have a few questions I need to ask you."

[Sovay]

The smell of the silver polish was almost pleasant while still being unpleasant enough to wrinkle your nose at. Sovay folded the cloth over again, buffing the creamer pot in ferverent circles, just as she'd been shown the first time she'd polished anything; now Sovay felt she was starting to get good at it. Maybe when she went on another cleaning spree she'd polish all the metal things that needed it- all the copper pots and silver chalices and old brass military buttons. The thought... was oddly exciting.

Sovay sat on the tabletop itself, her legs folded over each other Indian-style, her little black shoes dropped carelessly to the worn wooden floor that desperately needed to be refinished before the boards got too warped. The fuzzy record of Swan Lake carried on, brass reverberating solidly from the oboes and violas that danced around. Even busy polishing, Sovay was multitasking, learning, a cracked and outdated encyclopedia open beside her knee. The set was old, but she loved it. Loved the typeset and the smell of the old paper, and how the old black and white pictures in the books looked. There were newer ones, and her friends had even said they were all online, but Sovay didn't trust that machine. She could just find it in a book faster and easier. Besides, this was her favorite set so far, and she was only up to K.

She was engrossed in this human world of dark woddedn walls and frosty windows that were offset by ancient metal radiators and the smell of things that were so very old but entirely new to her and so new comparitively to her that their collective age was still just a drop and a day for Sovay. And now she was a part of it. Lost in the memories of people who no longer were. In a way it was kind of beautiful and fitting. But even lost in the multitides of things going on (or not going on, depending on how you looked at it), Sovay would never be so lost that she forgut her duty. Well, she called it that. Her friends called it her job which she took way too seriously.

The dull jingle of the rusty old cowbell meant someone had come into the shop. But, it was a cold day, and still early. She'd let them have time to look around if they hadn't just come in to thaw up a bit. "Hey there?" Sovay glanced up to the door of the store room. It was a man's voice calling out. That was uncommon- usually it was women who came in, and the only men who cared to browse were often old. Young men came to sell things they'd inherited mostly. "I have a few questions I need to ask you." Sovay blinked slightly, a bit surprised but pleased to be of assistance.

The gleaming creamer pot was put down and the polish towel beside it, Sovay hurriedly wiping off her hands to leave the room, shoes neglected, tea in hand. Footsteps so light they almost didn't disturb the floor's ground-in dust except for her slight weight- movements so quiet they might not have even happened except Sovay was moving from the back room into the main one. She stopped, head tilted almost like an animal's as she glanced at the front counter. The cash register there was ancient, like everything else, and never had enough money to bother robbing according to Mr. Lane. The old counter itself was nearly the same hardwood as the floors, newer than the building but still massively old, the wood worn soft. It had apparently been salvaged from some other old shop or bar long ago, and was thoroughly gouged and abused over time.

Long brown sleeves slipped from Sovay's elbows to pool back over her hands, too long for her arms as the giant, folded neck of the cableknit sweater slipped off her shoulder slightly. Deep olive eyes peered through messy black wisps and stared at the man at the counter briefly. He was much younger than most customers unless they came to sell something. But... Sovay turned her head finally, glancing at the calender. Today was the 14th, and held in honor of a saint few still paid homage to, but couples were made to scramble to find affection-tokens in a hurry. Sovay'd only come to undertand that much from having been at the scene of more than a few Valentine's days that didn't end so happily and the souls of the departed venting their frustrations to her before they left.

"Hail," Sovay said, her voice softly falling and fitting the gentle quiet of the store, muddled English that wasn't British but wasn't American hanging onto the edge of her voice. She kept forgetting the correct term was "Hello" and not "Hail," but she'd remember it eventually. A faint smile graced Sovay's mouth. "Welcome to As Time Goes By. We carry a little bit of everything, from antique books and posters, to fine china and silver, as well as a nice assortment of vintage jewelry. How may I be of assistance today?" Sovay glided from the doorway to the front counter and put her little cup of tea down by the register as she looked back up at Avery, perfectly still and patient, wondering if she should put the kettle back on to make an additional cup.

[Detective Ave]

He stopped encroaching on the area where customers shouldn't encroach, and busied himself with observing the incantations of dust. Bruised, dented, left to rot, all these items were once loved. He made a face at them, trying to decide if he liked this place or not--not that his opinion mattered in the long scheme of things. Mr. Lane either sold the murder weapon or didn't sell the murder weapon; that was all Ave was here to find out. And it wouldn't be the last thing he did. He had knack for these sorts of cases. So as to say, they came naturally. An ancient mirror caught his reflection as he past in his minute wandering. He grabbed it and flipped it over, picking up an interesting book next to it and nearly breaking the spine. Quickly placing it back down, he held his hands up and bit his lip in guilt, looking both ways to ensure his innocence. Innocence intact, he moved again toward the back of the store since it seemed the old man had dug himself up out of the piles of clanky shit to come talk. He wasn't expecting much, as he found he never did get anything much out of the older generations. Some still feebly grasped at their clarity, however, and Ave was ever an optimist when concerning his job. Hell, if he wasn't, he'd probably never get anywhere ever.

He came up on the front counter, leaning haphazardly on it, but after noting the ingrained dust and rough texture of the wooden surface, he changed his mind. Leaning haphazardly on a book shelf, he decided to take his chances rather than mess up his navy coat. Azure eyes narrowed sadly at the old cash register. Poor thing. He felt sorry for all the stuff in here. Abandoned after being used for so long--cast out as if they never had any meaning. He shook his head. It was sad really. "Hail." A woman's voice?! He spun around in shock, seeing here there suddenly. He hadn't heard her approach? Where did she come from? His lack of detection was rather horrifying. It was as if--as if his skills were getting rusty?! A look of sheer disappointment crossed his face for only a moment, self-loathing wriggling around with feed. She was just another female stuck at work on valentine's day, yet he wasn't so sure the word 'stuck' necessarily applied to her. She didn't look perturbed or upset about being stuck there, she actually looked like she was at peace. A shiver ran down his spine and he flicked a piece of orange hair behind his shoulder. Plus, who said 'Hail' in this century? Was this some kind of joke? His mood turned more sour, but he shook it off and waved up a hand.

"Yo." He clashed horribly. And he really wished she would turn off that horrid music so he could think straight dammit! he couldn't place her accent either. He was a man of fail today, and it sure wasn't becoming. "Can I ask you--"

"Welcome to As Time Goes By. We carry a little bit of everything, from antique books and posters, to fine china and silver, as well as a nice assortment of vintage jewelry. How may I be of assistance today?" Damn, did she have notecards? Seriously, she was a carbon copy of an old person in young skin. Those existed!? Ugh. He didn't know what to say or hardly how to act, so he just played along and smiled dumbly, humoring her as best he could given the situation.

"Uhh yeah..." He scratched his cheek, gaining momentum. "I am Detective Avery Sax, and I'm here to ask you some questions pertaining to a case. Do you recall selling any old kitchen knives to a customer recently? Or perhaps Mr. Lane would?" Right to the chase. No pleasantries needed.

[Sovay]

The man standing at the counter seemed odd, both out of place standing in the store, and yetnot as he lingered around the dusty and forgotten memories stacked around him. Sovay glanced to Avery's hands and saw no merchendise, either to buy or sell. Perhaps he hadn't found what he was looking for yet? Bare feet padded the floor silently, echoing the stillness of the preserved things that lined the floors and walls. Sometimes it was rather vexting to no longer be able to read human hearts or know their feelings; briefly Avery's feelings moved across his face, plain yet unreadable, before shifting into an odd smile as he scratched at his cheek.

"Uhh yeah," her customer said, "I am Detective Avery Sax, and I'm here to ask you some questions pertaining to a case. Do you recall selling any old kitchen knives to a customer recently? Or perhaps Mr. Lane would?" A detective? Sovay blinked once, her expression not confused or belying curiosity, however she was taking the briefest moments to give that some thought. There were several detective books in the store, they even had their own section, some were even pretty new. In the books they always solved such elaborate mysteries, but according to the encylopedia they solved everything from local crimes to domestic issues, and often worked either for the police or freelance. How interesting that one was in the shop today! Sovay's lips pulled into a slow smile, more delighted to have a unique guest than what he was actually asking about.

"I'm afraid my grandfather has been in and out of town for purchases," Sovay commented, watching the detective as though she were studying him the way an animal watches another animal it isn't certain about. "So I alone have been minding the shop." Wait, he was here for a case, he'd said. And kitchen knives? Sovay put a thin finger to her lips, thinking about it for a moment before she finally nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes. Recently I did sell some cutlery." People with some sense and experience in how the world worked generally had the instinct to begin to feel uneasy when answering questions to one with any kind of authority, especially when it involved things like cases of some kind. Lacking that experience, however, meant that Sovay was just as placid as the frost on the windows around them. Why should she be afraid?

Wordlessly, Sovay turned away from the detective and slipped behind the aged wooden counter, and vanished below it. Part of what she'd been doing for Mr. Lane had been recording all the items bought and sold and those that he personally brought in. There were still hundreds more to write in and so no shortage of work to do, but Sovay had gotten good at jotting in everything she'd sold for the old man. A grand book was produced and laid on the counter next to the ancient register, the book easily several inches thick, and old. The first third of it was dedicatedly Mr. Lane's wobbly writing, dating back more than a decade. Those pages were yellowing and curled at the corners, and Sovay's fingers slipped through them all, opening to where Mr. Lane's notes stopped many years ago. He'd stopped writing it all in after his wife had passed, and left too large a gap to backtrack. Sovay had picked up the task, starting on the next fresh page, her own writing delicate and orderly with delicate cursive. From the day and month she'd found a home in the shop's attic to this week's latest additions, nothing was missed.

Pages passed through her fingers, and then suddenly stopped on a page, her fingertip trailing down the lines of notes. "February 6th, 2:15 PM. I sold a man a Victorian carving set consisting of one nine-inch carving knife, a five-inch knife, a honing metal, and two-pronged fork. They all had mother of pearl inlays on the handles, and the box was lined in satin. It was a very beautiful set." Sovay had rather admired the way the colors changed on the mother of pearl, and found the carvings on the old wooden box to be wonderfully ornate. It was wonderful to think that such care had gone to making such ordinary tools taken for granted, but such was the way of nearly everything that was discarded and brought to this shop, including the pale creature that was currently presiding over it. Hazel eyes looked up from the lines of the book back to the detective, waiting. She wondered briefly if that was the set he was inquiring about/ Often in the books she'd skimmed, detectives were in search of missing things or persons. "Has the set been stolen, detective?"

[Detective Ave]

What was with that creepy smile? Not that the smile itself was creepy, but mostly the fact that he was asking about a murder weapon and she was smiling. Could it be that she was the murderer? Growing jealous that her best friend from another country had gotten married before she did, the cashier of an old antique shop decided to steal merchandise and off that friend with it so no one would know! It was the perfect mystery. And that was why it wasn't true. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. That didn't answer why she was smiling at him. Had she been wondering about the creepy guy who bought all the knives and was relieved to know that she wasn't the only one who was suspicious or that she finally found a reason behind her suspicions? Either way, it was really starting to drive him up a wall. He moved his hands to his hips and put all his weight on one leg, letting the other hang loosely out. He felt like he was the one under the effing magnifying glass.

"I'm afraid my grandfather has been in and out of town for purchases." Ah, so, Mr. Lane had a granddaughter. Wait, he didn't remember seeing anything about that in the background check. She couldn't be blood and she couldn't be adopted. Perhaps she just called him that for kicks? Probably knew each other for a long time or something. Regardless, he wasn't around, so he had to entirely rely on this girl for all the answers he sought. Anyway, if Mr. Lane was out of town, it was unlikely that he would have been the one to ring up the murderer. Yep, so she was here alone watching the shop for the geezer. If anyone had seen a potential killer, it would have been her. If not, he had a bunch of other places to check out. On Valentine's Day, mind you. He sighed and planted an elbow on the wooden desk, not caring this time about the damn dust. He'd get it dry cleaned off later. There were more important things at hand, like being lazy.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Recently I did sell some cutlery." Whhhhhhat?! He was definitely not really expecting that. Then again, selling cutlery didn't necessary suggest that the buyer was actually the murderer. They would have to fit the template he had constructed in his mind, but so far it was matching up. Shaking wild orange hair from his face in a bit of disbelief, she had his attention fully now.

"What kind of cutlery?" Avery found himself retorting. Without replying, she turned away and disappeared under the desk. He gave the empty space a tried look and sighed heavily. Next, she would pull out a giant book and tell him to have fun. Thump, the book was deposited on the desk just as he suspected, except instead of handing the dirty work over to him, she began paging through it herself. This amazed him. Usually people wanted him to get the fuck out and stop wasting their precious texting time. Or usually people were just outright lazy asses who didn't give a fuck who was just killed. The ignorance of society ate him alive day after day, just not this day. His baffled eyes continued to assess her, watching thin fingers dig through the handwriting and ancient parchment to find... "February 6th, 2:15 PM. I sold a man a Victorian carving set consisting of one nine-inch carving knife, a five-inch knife, a honing metal, and two-pronged fork. They all had mother of pearl inlays on the handles, and the box was lined in satin. It was a very beautiful set."

"Let me see that." He practically dove over the counter to stoop over her and read for himself. It fit the description perfectly, but that did not mean it was this set that did the work. He paused in deep thought for a moment, mulling over all the possibilities. It did make sense to choose a hole-in-the-wall antique shop to buy one's murder weapon, but that also meant that he had been planning on killing her. He chewed on his thumb nail, staring blanking up into the rafters. So then, all this time, it had to have been someone that knew her--saw he everyday, knew her schedule. He walked a few steps sideways and a few steps back, slamming his finger down into the book, and giving the cashier a serious look. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

"Has the set been stolen, detective?"

"No. Somebody was killed with it." Now, usually he didn't reveal what he was hunting for right off the bat. And usually, at the first sign of murder, people clammed up. But for some reason, he spouted it out in all hopes that she wasn't the easily intimidated type, and that creepy smile was the key. The creepy smile said I-don't-care-about-fear-because-I'm-the-curious type. It was almost like she was empty inside and lacking the typical human ingredients that prolonged her sentient life. In fact, that smile in and of itself reminded him very much of the kinds of things he had seen and witnessed in Inferis and couldn't unsee. It was odd and enrapturing to say the least, but yeah, creepy.

[Sovay]

There was a crackle of static as the needle of the ancient Victrola skimmed the grooves of the record as the overture of the second act came to a close, the song growing quiet and then silent. The needle moved to the innermost groove, the old metal horn amplifying nothing but the quiet sound of spiunning air for a moment before it went still. There was a whole cabinet full of records, some dating back to the 1920's, and lots from movies Sovay had yet to see, but her favorites so far had been these orchestral pieces. Part of Sovay wanted to go put on another record and possibly go turn the electric kettle back on for a fresh cup of tea, but both of those things would have to wait since presently she did still have a guest. Even if he wasn't buying anything, there were expectations to fulfill, and hers was to be helping customers in any way.

It was almost amusing how the detective's expression changed so much, now looking surprised entirely as though he honestly hadn't expected her to say she'd sold such a set of knives. Really, now. This was a store, and contrary to popular local belief they did actually sell things on occasion. Sovay had even been rather pleased with herself for how well she had engaged that customer and helped him find exactly what he'd been looking for. "Let me see that." As Sax nearly jumped over the counter to look at the book himself, Sovay stepped aside only to give him a bit more space, Sovay watching him as he skimmed the book to read the exact thing she'd just read to him.

"It really was a lovely set. I stil have a few more items from that estate sale if you want to see them as well." Mostly plates and a few linens, give or take the oddball bed warmer. It wasn't too unlike the items from the estate sale Mr. Lane had brought in most recently, even though that one was a little newer and generally silver. As soon as it was done being polished it would have to go somewhere nice, somewhere that it would catch the light and attract buyers... Maybe in the parlor room, since that's where they served tea way back then. It had the best light and was nicely arranged, and where Sovay liked to spend her free time painting. The detective was pacing, thinking, and seemed somewhat sour once more as he chewed at his nail. Perhaps some tea really was in order since something seemed to be troubling him. When his finger finally slammed back down on the book, Sovay was beyond curious as to what on earth he was puzzling about, his serious tension contrasting so heavily from her natural, eerie calm.

"Do you remember what he looked like?"

Sovay nodded gently, her hands moving behind her back to clasp lightly as she stepped away from the counter; the way Avery was moving around there wasn't enough room, and if he needed to pace and smack books, well, she'd just scoot over a bit as long as he didn't break anything. "I believe I do. He was here for more than an hour, and asked me to help him find the right set. He was rather pleasant company."

Had she been a bit better at reading human emotions externally it would have been easier to find out that Avery probably didn't care to hear that she'd had a good time going through the shop's many boxes with and for the man, offering different items to him for sale. He'd come in saying he was looking for something in an old knife set after looking at other things in the store. Antique fire pokers were nice and all, but they weren't what he'd wanted, apparently; he wanted something more like a knife, but not one of the antique military swords. Sovay'd been quite friendly with the man, and felt so accomplished to finally find something he liked and paid good money for. But had it gone missing? "No. Somebody was killed with it."

"...Oh." Hazel eyes blinked, looking straight at Avery. He seemed almost fierce, as if daring Sovay to become frightened or behave differently at this juncture. Most humans would begin to freak slightly when it became apparent that they might have assisted and sold a murder weapon to a murderer which led to someone's death. "What a pity.' And there was that duplicitous human nature come to call once more, reminding the fallen angel rather clearly what got her here in the first place. Try to be helpful, bad stuff happens. No good deed goes unpunished. Though she wasn't still smiling, Sovay was still entirely calm, as though the death had no impact on her; everybody died at some point or another, and if she'd still been an angel it was possible she'd have been there to collect on that unfortunate person. How many murders had Sovay witnessed over the centuries, patiently waiting for the poor human to die and come with her? She thought for a moment, wondering what the best thing to do would be. Avery had asked if she could recall the man's face, and she did, so perhaps showing him what else she knew would be the best way to assist.

Then again, given the duality of humans, it was entirely possible that this man was lying to her, but for the life of her Sovay couldn't fathom why he would. But for that matter, lies seemed lost on her entirely. "He paid cash, so I'm afraid I don't have anything with his name or picture on it, but if you'll come this way I can try to show you what he looked like." Hopefully this was the right right thing to do; she'd hate to have to call Mr. Lane back here so suddenly and bother him, and worse, hate to do something to damage the store and his reputation. The notion that helping the man to have selected and bought the knives might make her an accomplice never once crossed her mind. Leaving the book on the counter, Sovay turned away from Avery and stepped out of the room and into the hall. Bare feet padded silently along the floor, effortlessly graceful.

Old faded wallpaper lined the walls, matching without matching the crumbling medalions decorating the ceiling. This building really had been something grand so long ago, and tried desperately to retain as many of the historic notions intact as possible. There were even a few sconces where the gas lights had once lit, though the lines were disconnected ages ago. Sovay walked through the hall, not pausing to see if Avery was behind her or not as she pushed open the door to the parlor room. It was near the front of the building and had a grand bay window, long silken drapes catching the light. Sovay loved this room the most, and had set it up so that it was more open and less cluttered with goods, decorated as though it were still someone's parlor room. Sure nearly everything in there was  for sale, but at least spaced out nicely it was a change of pace from the rest of the shop's dark walls and towers of old things that were ready to topple over.

Near the front of the room by the window were the things that didn't seem to belong, far too new; a large easel with a canvas placed over it, and the box of paints and brushes that were sitting on a large, fold out TV dinner stand. Paper art pads with loose sketches  laid on the old, vintage sofa that really was too uncomfortable to sit on for long. Sovay stepped to the canvas and pulled a thin painting rag over it to cover part of the picture before sitting on the sofa and grabbing a pencil. She'd only covered it up since it wasn't finished yet, not once thinking about the content or what was still visible from around the rag. Wordlessly she set the pencil to a blank sheet and tried to work back through her memory to recall the man's face and body, her thoughts far and away from the hellish face exposed on the canvas. Shiny black skin stretched back on a head far longer than what seemed normal and was almost insect-like, save for the many sharp teeth. It was an Oracle.

Few humans ever saw the vicious beasts from the depths of Inferis like the Oracle, and even fewer who did see them lived long enough after to know what it was they looked like to paint them. On Earth humans who didn't know better simply painted demons and beasts of Hell how they thought they might be; few would guess that the battle waged on Sovay's partially-done canvas was an accurate portrayal of such monsters as they struggled to climb from the darkness. One beast was ahead of the pack and reaching up, claws extended as it tried to grasp at the ankles of ... someone. The nightmare had been so vivid and clear when she woke up and it had left her quite startled, but the longer she was awake the less she could recall whose face it was she saw being dragged toward the black maw-like entrance to Inferis. It was the last thing on Sovay's mind as she sketched quickly, lines forming a face and hair, setting the eyes apart and lines around them and his mouth. His coat had been heavy, but the day had been biting cold, and his hands thick under his gloves. Thin mouth, broad shoulders, high forehead. The eraser rubbed here and there, but a man was definitely forming as best she could recall. That same gentle yet distant smile returned to Sovay's face as she finally pulled the piece of paper away to hand it to Avery. "Does this help?" Hm, it was chilly in this room with the curtains open like that and the old fireplace blocked off. Tea was sounding more and more appropriate. "And, if you're cold detective, would you care for some tea? I was thinking of making a pot." Because everyone had paintings of real demons, sketched general portraits of possible murderers like they knew them, and sipped tea casually.

[Detective Ave]

The music stopped. It was as if it were a prelude to what was to come. Seriously though, he had no idea. It fuzzled out and left the room in peace--a strange sort of peace. The kind of peace that sort of just hung there in limbo because you knew it wasn't going to last. At any moment, she could turn and grab another record--at any moment, another horrid old tune may come wafting out of the old, decrepit machine. Not that he was really that judgmental. He liked old tunes like smooth jazz and some blues, but honestly, listening to swan music just wasn't his thing, man. So, he could only hope for the best.

He had studied her while she studied him, and he wasn't coming back with much. It was almost as if she wasn't human--as if the little things like change effected her more than normal people. She'd take it all in, and while he was surprised, she'd also be surprised at his surprise. It was as though he passed on his own emotions to her, and she wanted to try them out for a spin. He didn't like it. It was like someone stealing his car and driving it and then leaving it on the side of the road for him later. He'd have to fix the seat, deal with the fact that it smelled like another dude, change the mirrors, and report it. It creeped him out... just like her all-too-pleasant smile. Perhaps she just didn't understand the weight of the situation. She was assisting him in every way he required, but it just wasn't normal!

With his eyes still glued to the page and his mind humming about wiping it for prints, the cashier, silver-polishing, ancient-music-loving girl offhandedly revealed that his convictions were very correct. "It really was a lovely set. I still have a few more items from that estate sale if you want to see them as well." She had no idea. It was a good thing she asked because there was no way he was about to start lecturing her about his divine work. He sighed, shelving that dialogue while also wondering if she used hair dye.    

"Nah, s'cool." No need to go into detail with this one, but he would potentially need her in court as a witness. Not to the crime, but to the purchasing of the murder weapon. Of course, she wasn't fully understanding that. Didn't she watch CSI? For the love of god.

Luckily she nodded, indicating that she did actually remember the guy (or girl)'s appearance. Avery was lucky like that. Shedding a crooked smile at her, he stooped over her rather closely. "And?"

"He was here for more than an hour..." Okay, def the murderer. "...and asked me to help him find the right set. He was rather pleasant company." Except for the asking part. That was weird. Usually, they kept to themselves and slunk about, looking all inconspicuous and kind of obvious, but not obvious enough to attract inquiry. And it turned out he was a male after all. Figures, leave it to the male race to kill a pretty lady. He was ashamed of mankind (emphasis on man). All in all, it seemed that this might be the guy. As lame as it was, getting a murder weapon in a lowdown antique shop wasn't really that bad of an idea. For amateurs.

Wait. Pleasant company? His cerulean blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. What the hell? Did she enjoy spending time with murderers? He had never met anyone like this, save for the demons in hell! (And he never actually met any of them). He was just baffled beyond belief. In fact he had to entirely stop his thought process to blankly stare at her as if she had five eyes. Even after he clarified the situation to crystal status, she still seemed so far away. It made him feel like that one time he and his father went on a fishing trip. Short-lived and all that, he felt like he had cast out a line and was sitting there holding the pole and waiting all day in the blaring hot sun for absolutely no results. Sorry, but "What a pity" just didn't sum it up. There was no fish in that!

Something about video games these days left people so damn insensitive. Game controllers weren't just controlling the screen anymore; they were controlling people's minds! Not that he was a conspirator or anything, but seriously! If he could go trudging around talking about a murder weapon and seeking assistance and only get an 'oh that's a shame', then what was this world coming to?! No, he knew where it was going. They were all sinking into goddamn Inferis. There wasn't anyone left anymore who cared. This was it. Not to reemphasize his depressing existence, but yeah. This was what he was seeing. Not even some old-stuff-loving girl in an antique shop had any sympathy for the deceased. Any by deceased...he means brutally murdered.

"He paid cash, so I'm afraid I don't have anything with his name or picture on it, but if you'll come this way I can try to show you what he looked like."

"Alright," he murmured in his thick New York accent, all the vigor stripped away, "appreciate it." He followed her into the hall, noticing just then that she wasn't wearing any shoes. This confused him further. What worker didn't wear shoes on the job? Wasn't that unsanitary? Was she so comfortable here that she felt it okay to not wear them? With all this old stuff about, what if she stepped on a nail or something? It was...weird, and he was oddly intrigued. Maybe she was one of those tree-hugger type people. There wasn't a peace sign on her though. He became more and more interested in her and less interested in the killer the further down the hallway they got.

Eventually they reached what looked like a parlor room. It felt like he had just walked into the 18th century, save for the TV dinner stand (and a bunch of other things). While he looked in all directions, taking in the room fully, he saw from the corner of his eye as the girl covered over a part of a canvas that looked to be in use. Attention grabbed, he meandered over to it while she began to draw--probably what she meant by 'show you what he looked like'. Speaking of show... Right now, he was looking at a demon from hell (not that he didn't see those everyday), but finding such a thing in a parlor room wasn't what he expected. In fact, nothing that happened thus far met any of his expectations. He frowned at the hideous monster on the canvas, sweeping his eyes away from the tar-like black skin. Things were just getting weirder and weirder.

"What's your name by the way?" He didn't really want to interrupt, but whoops. "And what's with that weird painting?"

"Does this help?" Oh, she was done! Heavily distracted from his previous inquiries, Avery took the scetch from her and looked it over with expert eyes. Damn, could she draw. What was she doing in a place like this?  "And, if you're cold detective, would you care for some tea? I was thinking of making a pot." He looked up from the drawing. It wasn't the husband. What, tea? He was blown away.

"Okay. I'm done screwing around here. What is your deal, missy? Creepy paintings of Inferis demons, bare feet, murder weapons, and--and now tea? I need some answers cause you've really got me a tad lost here. Who are you?"

[Sovay]

Sovay had hardly noticed the detective's intrigue as she sat on the wood and upholstery sofa to sketch, her mind focused entirely on recreating the man as best she could recall. Thankfully she did have a rather good memory, even if some things distracted her or made her think of other things; it was natural to see things that reminded you of other things when you'd been around a few thousand years. But there was also a lot that she happened to me missing, like the fact that she really needed more practice being human, her responses and actions apparently nothing like what she was supposed to react with. But Avery was inspecting the half-done painting, and Sovay didn't mind in the slightest, even though she'd rather point out the finished works that were much nicer to look at.

"What's your name, by the way? And what's with that weird painting?" Ah, so he didn't understand the picture's content? No matter. She merely looked at him as she handed Avery the sketch, missing that he'd asked her name at first and watched his face as he looked it over, still debating that pot of tea. Oolong-jasmine might be nice right now, or maybe some of that nice white tea with peach blossoms that smelled so nice. However, tea seemed to not be what the detective was inclined for, something in his face snapping just slightly, Avery aghast. Didn't younger humans drink tea?

"Okay. I'm done screwing around here. What is your deal, missy? Creepy paintings of Inferis demons, bare feet, murder weapons, and--and now tea? I need some answers cause you've really got me a tad lost here. Who are you?" Well, somebody was vexed. Perhaps he really needed that tea, after all; it was very good at calming the body during periods of stress. Sovay blinked at Avery innocently, remaining on the small sofa as her legs lifted to curl under her body as though she were perching on the cushion rather than sitting on it. What was he so excited about? Wasn't everything rather self-explanitory? The painting wasn't finished, she didn't like shoes much, she'd sold the man a kitchen tool he used as a weapon, and tea was just nice and warming and it was cold in this room.

Placid as flowers painted on china cups, Sovay looked at Avery a moment, waiting to see if there was anything else that needed to bubble up. Strange as he was, she was deciding she rather liked her current shop guest. He was so highly-animated and oddly passionate about things, even if Sovay wasn't really understanding them. "That's a lot of questions," she said, her hands moving to rest together over her knees. "You're highly inquisitive, and observant- I like that! I am Sovay Lane." She gave a soft bow of her head, still sitting. "I am sorry that something I sold was misused, but I am trying to help as best I can. I'm afraid I don't have any "deal," however." A deal was an agreement, verbal or written. Selling things was a deal in the form of an exchange, but that was the only one Sovay could really think of that pertained to the matters at hand.

Uncurling herself, Sovay glanced down at her bare feet, the soft padding slightly dirty from the old wooden floor. But my weren't feet marvelous! With all the textures and weight that came from walking, why didn't everyone enjoy it? Stepping back onto the floor, Sovay was light enough to make no sound, moving gently on her toes for a moment before taking full steps toward her half-covered canvas, looking back up at Avery. "I generally dislike shoes, detective. You can't feel the earth through them, or the subtle movements of your own body. I walked from Triangle to this very shop without any, and really only wear them outside because it's too cold not to, and grocery stores don't allow it." But as soon as spring was there and all danger of frostbite was gone, even stores might have a hard time convincing her to keep her shoes on.

Sovay turned away from Avery, looking to the canvas in question as she pulled the rag away from the rest of the picture. The Oracle was a terrifying beast, pointy teeth bared and its claws extending and grasping the outlines of what would be an ankle. The tear in the earth from which the beasts came was the only truly finished part, perfectly and intricately detailed, down to the thin ribbons of saliva running down the Oracle's fangs. It was the upper righthand corner that was still mostly blank, the vague shapes of trees and clouds filling the background, as though the tear just popped up to invade a perfectly good sunny day. But the person being grabbed was the blankest, their body struggling against the ferocious monster, their arms poised to hold some kind of weapon to fight back as they were dragged downward. The lay of the body was there, androgenous but lithe, all identifying features still painfully blank, as though trying to remember something half-erased. She sighed faintly, her first real sign of any slight unhappiness their whole conversation.

"Please do excuse my painting, detective Avery. As you can see, it isn't finished yet." Though, hadn't he just referred to the demon specifically as an Inferis demon? Why on earth would a human know about something like that? Or did perhaps all humans know the place by its truer name? "Inferis... Such confusion." Without meaning to, her native tongue slipped out, the fallen angel lost in thought for a moment before shaking her head before looking back to Avery. "I regularly sell my paintings, but this is something of a departure from my usual works. I may keep it since it may not sell. I've been having rather unique nightmares lately, and thought painting them may relieve the feeling. I'm rather unaccustomed to them." As much as Sovay liked the broad variety of human emotions, they were all still far too new in four months of living and didn't have enough explanations or things to associate them with to understand them. Fear wasn't a feeling Sovay understood even how to process, nor was she crazy about it.

"You are a detective. Your work is to understand mysteries." The slow, distant smile returned, curious yet completly detatched. "Perhaps you could understand mine." While she did rather doubt it, it was an amusing thought to consider and wondered possibly if it would be like a guessing game of questions to understand something even Sovay could not explain. There were still so many human words and feelings to learn, and words that didn't translate to Latin or Enochian; perhaps if someone could make sense of the dreams that ate at her mind and understand the world and life she'd been torn from, perhaps they could be wise enough to tell her where to go from there and what she was still possibly meant for. Her hands moved to her upper arms, pale creamy white against the dark knit of the giant sweater as Sovay rubbed lightly. "The heat really doesn't work in this room as well as the others... I think I'll go make that tea anyway. Won't you join me?" It was only polite to offer again since Sovay wanted some for herself, and since she'd gone and gotten the man somewhere between confused and annoyed, so hopefully she could make up for her mistake.

[Detective Ave]

He gripped the sketch tight in his hands, wrinkling it just slightly like all the bills in his wallet while she blinked at him as if she were a four-year-old child. Innocence. He scowled, hardly knowing how to handle someone he couldn't get through to. At the same time, he was overcome with a sort of determination that left him bewildered at his own resilience. Maybe he'd take the damn tea after all. And you know what? HE'D DRINK IT ALL AND ASK FOR SECONDS. There was a point at which every man became stuck. This was Avery's point. It was hard to figure out what to do when one became stuck. Fight or flee. He could easily finish the job here now, get her contact information, and just leave, but he wasn't going to do that. Why? Because he cared. Why did he care? Fuck if he knew. And who the fuck sat like that?! She looked like a goddamn pigeon. He slammed his forehead into his palm and sighed heavily. This was going to be a long-ass Valentine's Day. Probably the weirdest he'd ever had.

"That's a lot of questions," she finally answered without an ounce of surprise at his outburst. WELL YEAH, he was a detective. Typically people would be offset and start questioning themselves before questioning others. Or, they would get angry. Of the normal responses, she gave none. Instead, she complimented him. "You're highly inquisitive, and observant- I like that! I am Sovay Lane."

"Wait, what?" He continued to stare at her in with the reaction he had expected from her. Unpredictable. He couldn't place a finger on her--couldn't even get anywhere with her. After all that, he had finally just gotten her name of all the simplicity. It drove him crazy. And it was hard to get under his skin, usually. This wasn't usual, however. Of all the people--of all the encounters in his entire life, he was never thrown off the wagon this hard. And walking was so annoying. Ugh.

"I am sorry that something I sold was misused, but I am trying to help as best I can. I'm afraid I don't have any "deal," however." He didn't care about the deal. He had a sketch and her; that's basically all he needed to catch the guy and throw him behind bars. In that, his job was done. He just had to grab her information and book it the hell outta there. But he wasn't going to do that. Ave wasn't about to leave before he solved his own mystery. "I generally dislike shoes, detective. You can't feel the earth through them, or the subtle movements of your own body. I walked from Triangle to this very shop without any, and really only wear them outside because it's too cold not to, and grocery stores don't allow it." Treehugger.

"Yeah, because you can contract diseases or step on glass, then drag that shit into the grocery store where people buy food to eat. Don't you get it?" Are you an alien, what planet are you from!? He stepped backwards, suddenly unable to breathe. Aliens? Could they-- Could they really exist? If demons existed, why not aliens?! He bit his lip, looking like he had just seen a ghost. And they, too, probably existed. All the unexplained cases--unsolved murders--CORNFIELDS. He shuddered, and tried to keep his cool despite the frosty room, fiddling with the scarf around his neck. Okay, maybe he went too far. If she was an alien, she wouldn't have a belly button. And she probably would have five eyes. He tapped his chin, contemplating this. Unless they could disguise themselves like a human? This was getting more and more like Scooby Doo and he hadn't watched that since he was a kid. God, he needed some coffee, black. With some kahlua. And a beer. Yes, a hoppy beer on the side.

"Inferis... kdjsfs ksfhkas." Make that two. Fuck, what did she just say? It totally sounded like she just said Inferis at him, but in a different language. Dude, could they just keep to English please? It would make a helluva lot of difference if he could actually understand the content of what she was saying. He glanced again at the creepy-ass canvas, taking note of the unfinished parts, before again, looking at her in all of her dissatisfaction. She was beginning to look more and more human by the second. "I regularly sell my paintings, but this is something of a departure from my usual works. I may keep it since it may not sell. I've been having rather unique nightmares lately, and thought painting them may relieve the feeling. I'm rather unaccustomed to them."

"I'll buy it," he blurted out, blue eyes dark musks, narrowing at the edges. A crooked smile drew onto his lips and he flashed his lady-killer at her. "It may mean that a demon likes you. He's haunting your dreams because you're so languid. Perhaps you need someone to protect you from it." He winked, taking his usual angle.  

"You are a detective. Your work is to understand mysteries. Perhaps you could understand mine." Yeah, that's what he was trying to figure out. And something told him that it wasn't going to be so easy. If she wasn't an alien, then there was something else involved here--something he did not yet logically fathom. Something like Inferis. Perhaps...something opposite to Inferis. Chasity. Fairies. Sovay. "The heat really doesn't work in this room as well as the others... I think I'll go make that tea anyway. Won't you join me?" Angels.

He couldn't answer at first. Instead, he just blinked a few times, leaning closer. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. He leaned in close. Eyes, serious. "Tell me, Sovay, do you believe in Heaven and Hell? And yeah, I'll take that tea. Actually, do you have coffee? Preferably some without dust in it."[/i]

[Sovay]

"I'll buy it." That was unexpected. Typically it was the angel's lighter works that went over so well; her cloudscapes and images of angels, scenes of holy battles and victories, and of peaceful scenery and the deepest beauties of Earth that Sovay loved to capture and illustrate. Moments that were sacred and meant to be cherished, translated onto canvas with careful brush strokes from a talent Sovay had never guessed she'd had and could only wonder if the skill had been hers for centuries all along, or if it had been gifted to her before she took her first living breath. And yet, this detective wanted to buy this piece, even seeing it only half done? It was a frightening image and had left the girl shaking when she woke from that dream; why on earth would anyone want to keep such a picture?

An odd smile moved across Avery's face in a way that somewhat puzzled Sovay, since he had seemed so exasperated just a few moments ago. Were all humans like this? A constant kaleidoscope of emotions? It was exciting and educational, and yet very tiring to try and keep up with at the same time. "It may mean that a demon likes you. He's haunting your dreams because you're so languid. Perhaps you need someone to protect you from it." Now that thought just made her feel a bit odd, particularly with the distraction of Avery's smile, and then his wink. A demon liking her was bad enough, and terribly unlikely- she'd slain a few throughout time, avoided them where she could, and most demons knew well enough to know to avoid holy agents. But to need someone's protection from such a thing? Who would he even suggest, himself? Surely not, those weren't things meant for humans to fight. But then again, with his tone, who else could he have meant?

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, but thank you." Sovay returned the smile, soft as morning light. If he really wanted to buy the painting when it was finished, she wouldn't deny Avery, and if he honestly felt there was something she needed protecting from? Well, she'd not allow him to get too involved at least; no more humans would be hurt on her account if she could help it. Avery's hand landed heavily on Sovay's shoulder, his blue eyes becoming serious. There was that emotional roulette again. It was quite fascinating, if a bit unfathomable. He needed to ask her something else about the man he was looking for?

"Tell me, Sovay, do you believe in Heaven and Hell? And yeah, I'll take that tea. Actually, do you have coffee? Preferably some without dust in it." Green-gold eyes stared and then blinked, for a moment confused before laughing. For the first time that day, and possibly a few, laughing. Of all the things in the shop that were dusty, the food, thankfully, wasn't. Slipping from beneath his hands like water, Sovay stepped away gracefully, her smile shining with light. The parlor room was near enough to the foyer and front door that she often opened the door that connected the two rooms to watch the door while she painted; it was only closed right now to help keep the cold out a bit. Though the shop was still open, Sovay rather doubted she'd get another customer in the next few minutes, and she couldn't very well answer the detective's questions and assist other customers at the same time since they wanted two totally different things.

Sovay glanced over her shoulder at Avery, nodding, black curls bouncing slightly down her back. "Let me lock the front and then we'll head back to the kitchen. I promise the drinks aren't dust-flavored!" There was some coffee in the cupboard, too; Mr. Lane had left it for her, though she hardly touched it. She'd burnt it too many times the first few goes to want to bother with it much. She vanished for a moment through that connecting door into the foyer and locked the great brass locks of the front door, and flipped the sign around to say CLOSED FOR LUNCH. Tea was kind of like lunch and she had more tea than solid meals most days. As quickly and quietly as she'd gone Sovay was back, now in front of Avery again, hands behind her back. "The kitchen is all the way in the back, if you'll follow me. It's much warmer back there, too. I think I do still have some coffee left."

Old houses were such a curiosity. This house had been here for such a very long time, and  yet, some things were newer than others, changed and updated as time went by. Originally there had been no kitchen in the house, nor a bathroom; this was pretty standard, even for large, expensive houses for good families like this had been. There had been a hearth, but the "kitchen" was detached, outside, and servants would bring the food in. The bathroom had been outside as well, in the form of a standing privy. Sovay led Avery back down the dark and dusty halls of the house, the heat from the radiators feeling better as the open spaces began to diminish under the piles of stuff that acted as insulation and the smaller rooms; Heaven help them if there were ever a fire. She'd been quiet for a moment, lost in thought, not quite sure how to answer Avery or if she even should. But he did ask her a question, and she did say she'd help as best she could. "I do, you know. Believe in Heaven, that is. Very much."

It wasn't the first time a guest of the shop asked that question, but usually it was asked by little old ladies and young missionaries who followed that question by telling Sovay she needed to go to their church and be saved lest she be damned forever. But wasn't she already? And she didn't even know if she had a soul at all, so in their mess of worshiping that preached one thing but practiced another, Sovay always thanked them but declined. She already knew what Heaven was like; she didn't need the idolitry of preachers talking like only they understood what else the universe had in store for them as they worshiped a man they'd practically invented for their cause more than anything he ever said or did. Sovay was naiive, but she wasn't stupid. She really hoped Avery wasn't about to invite her to his church or start telling her how deep in trouble her soul was... she rather disliked having her nose rubbed in the fact that she'd fallen from grace in the most literal sense of the phrase.

They'd passed a point where the store ended and the house began, the clutter cutting down a bit as old plaques that needed polishing plainly stated NO GENERAL ADMITTANCECustomers were allowed to use this floor's small bathroom, but that was it. This door was the kitchen that had been added on some decades before, and was thankfully more modern and much warmer than the rest of the house had been. As Sovay pushed the wooden door of the kitchen, there was an audible noise of happiness and relief from the sudden burst of warmth, the old radiators pumping heat steadily. Old brass pots and pans hung from the ceiling, the wooden floor much newer and shinier than anywhere else in the house. "So, coffee for you? Just have a seat anywhere you like, detective." There was a little wooden table with a few mismatched chairs, leftovers from some junk dives. Nothing in the kitchen really matched, and it was obvious it hadn't been used steadily in a long time. Mr. Lane had his own house, so this kitchen was just used for coffee and heating up lunch before Sovay'd come to live there.

She filled the electric kettle with water and pushed the button before putting a few scoops of loose tea in the steeping center of a small glass pot. Sovay could make tea without hurting anyone. Tea was painless and easy and you just poured one thing into another and then waited for it to be the right color. Coffee, however... Sovay frowned slightly, picking up the old tin peculator. She knew the steps; knew how to put the filter in the basket, put the lid on, and put the whole thing on the stove to boil until it became coffee. In her head it made sense, and she didn't know what she was doing wrong, but every time she'd tried it herself, Sovay had burnt it or made it too weak from not letting it perk enough. A sad fate since things that were "gourmet" were supposed to taste wonderful. It was the stove, entirely. That stove was out to get her. That, or all human food was supposed to be black and humans just got used to it. Carefully Sovay set up the pot and put it on the stove, waiting, and hoping that just this once it wouldn't be lethal. Mr. Lane made it seem so easy and taste good when he did it!

Pulling a chair nearer to the stove, Sovay sat down where she could watch the old peculator as though at any moment it were about to turn into a viper and bite her nose. Slow perks meant it wasn't ready, fast perks with medium brown was optimal. The longer it perked, the stronger and closer to being burnt it would get. Don't burn... Don't burn.... "And thank you for wanting to buy my painting. I do have others if you'd prefer one that's finished, or more pleasant." Because hanging Inferis demons in the hallway of some house was sure to be a good conversation piece, at the very least, though it did still strike Sovay as strange that he'd called it Inferis. Hm. Curiouser and curiouser.[/color]

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