hadriel_logs | i'll do it again 'til i've got what i need

Entry tags:

i'll do it again 'til i've got what i need

Who: Richie Gecko and YOU
What: Open pawn shop log
Where: The pawn shop next to the clinic
When: Dec 6 - Dec 10
Warnings: a king shit and general unpleasantness, but nothing nsfw outside of some language

Richie takes pride in his shop. He's wanted to create and maintain something on his own for as long as the Gecko brothers have been a team. While he would never trade his time with Seth for anything, Richie has long resented being viewed as his brother's tagalong within their frequented crime circles. There was plenty he could do on his own and the pawn shop was a perfect means to prove that. If Seth wanted to be a part of the venture he certainly could, but Richie would remind him with enough frequency as he deemed necessary that he was the originator of the shop.

He goes to the shop most days. Sometimes he can be found cleaning, arranging inventory, or working on building shelves for what he hopes is a growing supply. Yet if someone is looking to trade he'll quickly set down a project to do business. Though nothing is in place to stop someone from wandering in and chatting, this isn't a skill he considers himself to possess. Or like very much.

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[So Sans has been involved in some, uh, questionable activities over these past few days. For a while, maybe. But he ain't about to stop now. He needs more supplies for the Great Prank War of House Number Three, stat - plus he's got a sustained interest in checkin' up on the pawn shop, so hey. Two birds, one stone.

In shuffles the skeleton in question. Mostly he dawdles and lollygags, wandering around the place without much direction, idly casting about for anything that might benefit him in the upcoming prankpocalypse.]

With an idea or two in his mind, Sato had figured it was about time to give his regards to Richie again and see just where a little light conversation might take them. This is one case where he's quite sure they have a common interest or two... but some people just like to make things more difficult than they have to be.

So he lets the smile drop when he pushes the door open and sees it's only Richie in the shop at the moment. It looks like he's ready for a hunting expedition of some kind; a rifle of some unknown manufacture slung over one shoulder, pistol, machete, and a few knives all sheathed or holstered appropriately.

"Oh, good afternoon, Richie. I'm glad I ran into you again," he remarks calmly enough.

Ushahin had wandered in, as much out of boredom as anything else. When there was nothing dramatic going on in Hadriel, things could be dreadfully dull. He examined the wares, looking at the most innocuous of them with rapt attention.

His eyes focused on Richie as if only discovering him there for the first time. "It appears you have done well for yourself. What will you accept for the feline rug?"

Cashmere's mostly curious about what Richie has been up to, but also she doesn't completely hate arguing with him and if anything it's a good way to pass the time. She stops by in the later half of the week (wouldn't want to give him the impression she's being dying to check out his shop).

"Hi." she nods a hello to Richie as she walks in, her eyes only briefly on him before she starts to wander the shop. Creepy teddy bear, dishes - it's a strange collection of things.

"Have you been hoarding stuff the whole time you've been here?" She chuckles, mostly to herself. "Can't even imagine what your place looks like."

[Oh. It's that guy.

Well, they were bound to run into each other sometime. Richie remembers that he has seen Sans over the network, but only replied in text. With Richie announcing that he was running the pawn shop, it wouldn't take much to put two and two together.

He approaches from behind. As he stands at over six feet, Richie is used to being taller than many. But with the skeleton, this is different.]

You're shorter than I expected.

[The tone is dry rather than accusatory.]

Sharon enters the pawn shop with a bag hoisted over her shoulder. It's not heavy, but it's filled with a variety of things that, quite honestly, she wants nothing to do with. She thought about just leaving the items in various locations, let people find them, and take them if they want to, but with Richie opening up a shop, well, this just feels like the better option.

"I've got some shit for you to add to your inventory," Most of it are items Hope has given her; trinkets he thinks she'd appreciate for whatever mundane task he'd asked of them at the time but Sharon doesn't appreciate anything Hope sends her way. She plops the sack onto the counter, items twinkling. It sounds as if there might be a glass object or two inside.

[Sans is roughly the height of a small child - four feet of bones and horrible puns and unwashed clothes that smell of ketchup and awful hot dog water. He's just an awful little monster.

Richie, by contrast, is, uh...very human-looking. Which he wouldn't've assumed based on the way he seemed pretty eager to hide his face, but Sans stopped makin' dangerous assumptions like that a long time ago. So they're all good.

He grins up at the two feet Richie has on him, unrepentant.]

Hey, 's not my fault everyone just happens to be freakishly tall, is it?

[ Pawn shops are sketch city, especially in New York. But pawn shop owners also tend to know people, and knowing people when you're stuck in a tiny cave seems like a good idea.

Yes, he's literally here for a chat. Though he has a good enough excuse. It's not like a blind guy can pretend to browse a pawn shop, but here Matt is, cane in tow, tapping his way up to Richie's desk. He fixes his gaze somewhere past his ear, head tilted to get a good 'look' at what's behind the register. ]

Hi, um. You sell pots and pans, right?

The sight of Sato isn't an unwelcome one. With the tenseness of Richie and Sato's conversations it would be understandable for an outsider to assume that the two dislike each other. In Richie's opinion, that is far too simplistic. He wouldn't say he likes much of anyone, but he appreciates Sato's company. The man is interesting, he'll give him that.

Once again Sato proves just how interesting with how he arrives. Richie gives a wry "hm" after the man speaks, pointing to the weaponry.

"It's not like you expected anyone else here. Do you have a present for me?"

Richie never knows what to expect from Ushahin's presence. There's something refreshing about the unpredictability, even if Richie doesn't think much of it at the time. The truth is that there's no one else who has even close to a grasp of what goes through Richie mind. There's a certain sense of solidarity.

"I'll take weapons, clothes, food, household items, art supplies, cigarettes. If you have something else in mind I'm open to hearing it. I'm still trying to build my inventory." And get rid of that damn rug.

"Pretty much." He couldn't keep too much when he first arrived of course due to having limited storage space, but that didn't stop him from picking up what seemed valuable.

Richie points to the grouping of a robe, lantern, and heavy knife. "Got those my first day here. Not long after I met you." He doesn't feel the need to elaborate. He's pretty certain Cashmere remembers. Not everyone has lengthy bitching sessions in front of a temple.

"Don't know if you're much of a reader but I've got a few good books in stock." His voice remains indifferent, wanting to make a sale but not desperate for one. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Hey!"

That's what Sharon receives in greeting. Not a thank you, not a hello, but a startled word of caution with an outstretched hand. The reach is more reactionary than anything, but he's still disappointed when it doesn't reach the bag in time for it to come dropping down onto the counter.

"You know if you break the shit in there you've got less to trade." Richie immediately begins to pick through the items, watching out for any potentially broken glass. "What is all this anyway? Stuff from an ex?"

"I can offer either several pairs of sunglasses and coat hangers--" Some of his many souvenirs from the colosseum each month. "--Or I can offer you knowledge that most men will never be able to possess." Never let it be said that the old immortal did anything by halves.

Richie interested him greatly. He had potential if only it was cultivated properly. They'd started, but nowhere were they near the finish. Ushahin's knowledge could take a lifetime to possess.

The reaction does not surprise her in the least, and she smiles in response as he begins to pick through the variety of items. There's a pair of unworn shoes, condition spectacular (a US ladies 8.5), a dusty oil lantern (still sloshing with torch oil), a wooden duck on a string, though there's a spatter of blood on its yellow body, along with an old school Troll doll, and a strange wind chime.

"I shudder at the thought of Hope being an ex of mine," she picks up the troll doll, pressing at its gemmed belly button,"He's a shit gift giver but I didn't want to drop it all in the river to spite him, figured you might have a better use for them."

"Oh, that's not true at all. I met your employee and her dog the last time I stopped by," Sato says mildly. "She seems like quite the character."

"But you may be right. I thought it would be nice to have a small chat in person though," he continues, pacing up to one of the shelves to have a look over whatever changes in stock there have been since the last time he was in here. "After all, we seem to have at least one thing in common. A fight like we did when we met... it's a lot of fun, isn't it?"

Cashmere flashes him a grin. She remembers. She doesn't always argue with people when she first meets them. Just sometimes.

She isn't much of a reader, but she's not going to tell Richie that because it'll make her sound dumb. "Yeah? Are they in a language we can read?" Reader or not, a book she can't read might as well just be a door stop.

But, at the very least she's interested in pretending that she's interested, so she follows to where he's indicated, blissfully unaware of what awaits her. The first few books honestly look boring but she picks each one up and inspects it closer: checks out the front and back cover, reads the first page, puts the book back.

And then she sees something she does recognize: the commemorative booklet from the year she was crowded victor of the Hunger Games. There's a lot of emotions at once: surprise, confusion, annoyance, embarrassment. Cashmere looks back to Richie, brow furrowed. "This is mine. How did you get this?"

She found exactly what he had intended. Richie looks over his shoulder before slowly walking toward the selection of books. He folds his hands in front of him after he stops, rocking back on his heels and forward again. This book was of interest, that much he had anticipated. What he hadn't anticipated was that reaction. He couldn't read it, and wasn't sure if this would start another round of arguing or not.

"I found it," he finally replies. It's honest, with nothing out of order in his delivery. "Remember when people were finding shit from home? I found it on the ground with rocks and dirt on it. Don't know how long it had been there."

[Richie is not a chatty person, but he does appreciate the value of a sale. For that, he'll talk, but only as much as he feels comfortable.

At the question he wants the give a quick retort of "Yeah, can't you see 'em?" but it was quickly obvious that this man couldn't. Instead, he approaches the customer while still keeping a respectable distance.]

Yeah, just don't sue me if you burn anything. Or yourself.

[What? It's just an expression.]

"Why didn't you tell me?" Now she does sound cross, but her gaze is back on the book so it's clear she can't be that angry. She's not even really paying attention to him for the moment.

It's been ages since she's looked at one of her books, and there's something surreal about seeing it now, so far from how and otherwise out of context. She turns the pages slowly, pausing to throughly read and look at every picture. "I was so young." Some of the photos were even taken before the Capitol had a chance to 'beautify' her.

Cashmere's starting to get lost in her thoughts, but his presence makes her snap back to the moment before she drifts too far.

"Did you read it?" How could he pass up that chance?

I'm not up to date on my cave law, but I'm pretty sure there'd be no grounds, trust me.

[ Matt chuckles. Lawyer jokes. He's a total sucker for them. ]

Can I see what you've got? [ He holds out a hand, flexing his fingers. By 'look' he means 'touch' here. ] I'm looking for a sauce pan, preferably.

Richie feels a bit of bristling when he hears Sato mention Miriam. He's not sure what it means, but he feels a certain kind of threat to the life he's made for himself. Miriam is a tough kid, but he's not sure what a meeting between her and Sato would entail. Maybe he didn't want to know.

He can't deny that Sato is onto something, and Richie's never been good at hiding his thoughts. "It was," he replies slowly, acknowledging their fight. He smiles faintly despite himself, feeling the scent of blood inside his nose. "The gods try to throw what they want at us, but it's not satisfying." Long fingers run against a palm, then hands swap positions for Richie to do the same to his other hand. "The best prey are also hunters."

"If he's giving you gifts he either wants something or has the hots for you. Probably both."

Richie doesn't have much regard for the gods, especially the ones who seem to interfere more than others. With Hope in particular bothering one of the few people in this place he gives a shit about, the god has placed himself among the list of least favorite.

He reaches into the box, pulling out the wind chime. With a long arm he holds it up over his head. The other hand touches the bone in the center, causing the center piece to bounce against the rest of the chimes. It emits a high, but muted sound, like the wind blowing over a lone house to give warning of a storm.

"But this one is cool. Might even hang it outside."

Edited 2016-12-22 19:33 (UTC)

No.

[He sniffs he air before wrinkling his nose.]

But you can help not smelling like old meat.

[He tries to figure out Sans' line of sight, but it's a little difficult to do that without hunching which Richie is not about to do.]

What is it that you're looking for anyway?

Say that, hypothetically, you got up to some pranks with your roomies and were lookin' for a way to get 'em back.

[Which has done nothing to benefit his smell, let him tell you.]

Wouldn't happen to have anything that might help with that, would ya?

Of course Richie wouldn't say no to further inventory for his store. He doesn't currently possess either sunglasses or coat hangers under this roof. While that fuels his ambitions and would certainly help with his goal of keeping the shop alive, the decision of choosing something tangible is not the one that tugs at his sense of yearning.

"I think you know the answer to that."

The look on his face is conspiratorial. Not quite a smile, but an expression of excitement nonetheless, inviting Ushahin to open further the door to possibility.

[Richie has no sense of stakes in this prank war, but a sale's a sale so...]

You can use anything if you're creative enough. I've got a shitload of canned beans. [Other canned goods too if Sans wants to take a look on the shelf, but he'll notice that beans are by far the most prevalent.]

Oh, and there's this thing. Would hate to wake up to it in the morning.

[Or have it show up unexpectedly like some kind of mutated Elf on a Shelf.]

[Sans meets the dubious cloth eyes of the thing he ain't really sure how to categorize. A stuffed...bear, maybe? He regards it for a long moment, contemplating its hideous appearance with something approaching exaggerated reverence.]

I think I need this in my life.

[Alphys and Papyrus especially need this in their life as well.]

What kinda stuff will you trade for it?

Do you have anything just as ugly? [Because let's face it, they both know it's ugly.] Food that won't go bad - no hot dogs, clothes, something from where you're from, tools, a book.

[These are just ideas off the top of his head. If Sans has another suggestion, provided it's not completely idiotic, Richie will listen to it.]

Must not've given you the memo yet. Monster food doesn't spoil. Converts to energy straightaway, see.

[So basically: video game healing mechanic made manifest. Hot dogs that won't go bad - that's gotta be worth this thing, right?]

Ushahin smirks, a sharp-toothed look reminiscent of a wolf. He's always been the top predator. His powers have left him with very little fear of anything. "Smart man."

The next words are directly put into Richie's mind without his mouth moving. It's not just words, but an undercurrent of contained power that are felt. Tell me, what do you know of how to project your thoughts into another's head?

Oh.

Well in that case, yeah. Do you have any on you? [It's hard to tell if that smell is just Sans or if he actually has the food with him.] No hot dogs, no bear thing.

[He retrieves one of said 'dogs from his jacket pocket - don't worry, it's wrapped up and everything - and extends it to Richie for his appraisal. It's all but indistinguishable from an ordinary hot dog, but there's something about the smell that itches with the humming murmur of magic.]

"Bear thing." I like the descriptor. It's accurate.

Richie shrugs. "I wanted to know something you didn't. Wasn't it you who said knowing things about people could be valuable?" His answer is honest, and he can't blame her if she's upset with him. He doesn't read people very well, but he understands how reading her actual life story could be construed as a violation of privacy.

"I read everything. And you're still young, don't start with the talking like an old lady crap." A bit hypocritical from someone who doesn't see anything wrong with using the phrase back in my day.

"Everything was given the same weight. A dress you wore. A kill from your own hands." His voice becomes slow and cracked, as if reaching between worlds to barely touch her past. "You were a product."

She did say that, and she nods. She would have done the same if she had the chance. You don't leave an opportunity like that just laying (literally, in this case) around.

"It was a nice dress." Cashmere tosses out a joke while she tries to stuff down her feelings. She's explained the Games to people before and though she might try, explaining Panem is difficult. Richie's practically had a crash course in all of it now, and he's right in his assessment. No one in the Capitol ever saw Cashmere as someone, just as something to be fawned over, sold, and collected. She bristles at the idea of being a product, but it isn't wrong. She's had more freedom while living in a hellhole than she ever did at home.

"Were you surprised?" Her anger stays below the surface, dampened by the sheer weirdness of the situation. She feels exposed more than anything else. She tells people she's a trained killer but it's a very different balance to the relationship when someone also sees her vulnerabilities.

"He gives everyone gifts when he thinks they've done what he's asked of them," Sharon is quick to interject. She doubts that the gods are capable of having the hots for anyone, at least not in any way they'd understand, but they're known to show a certain amount of favor towards the ones they like. Luckily for Sharon, she's not on Hope's list of preferred humanoid Door children, she's just on Fear's,"He mistakes my actions."

The things she's done to receive these things, she's done not because he asked them to, but because she needed something to do. She killed the monsters because she needed a way to release her pent up aggression and frustration at the horror of their situation. She painted the city as a way to warn others of the atrocities done to them. And every time Hope gave her something like the fool he is.

As Richie picks up the chimes, she grins,"I thought they were, too. They were one of those coliseum trinkets that come in with the monsters, picked it up thinking I might hang it somewhere, and then..."

Her grin dies a little, and she shrugs,"I realize I don't have a place to hang it."

It's of her own volition. She's chosen to live a life on the move. The last time she settled down, she got a couple of bullets to the chest, so now she always moves. She always moves.

"Ah, that's a good way of putting it. And we have the advantage of having a unique opportunity here in this city. Since Hope revives anyone who dies, there's no need to worry about running out of entertainment, only facing whatever challenges come up when opponents revive."

This might not be strictly true, but at least so far there don't seem to be limits to Hope's revivals, so that's how Sato presents it.

"And I don't know about you, Richie, but I've been getting terribly bored lately."

Richie looks to Sato for several moments. He says nothing has he regards the old man, reaching to a shelf to fit a heavy mace in both hands. Eyes are not taken off Sato as we weighs the weapon, mentally estimating how much damage it would deal in a single blow.

"Alright," he finally replies. "Level with me, Sato. Do you want to kill me or are you inviting me along for someone else."

It's more of a question asking for confirmation than anything. He doesn't judge her for it. In fact, the mentality is something that Richie understands all too well.

"For the first two months I was here I didn't stay in the same place for more than three days. I only stopped because I started hoarding stuff and needed a place to put it."

Old habits of a life on the road were hard to break, especially when those habits included watching your back.

"So if that's your deal, I get it." He gives the chimes another tap. "But if you ever want 'em again, these things have your name on it."

It's somewhat comforting to hear that Richie, for his first couple of months, was a wanderer like her. There's something nice about sharing such a habit because it tells her a lot of where he's come from and what he's dealt with.

"I have a hidden cache where most people don't go, but I appreciate the gesture, Richie," she responds, offering a somewhat shy smile,"but I, uh, I had my own apartment for a couple of months after I got here, but..."

She laughs, the sound a little more sad and bitter than genuine,"I got killed the last time I let someone know where I live here so I, uh, keep on the move." Five months, now. Five long months of never staying in one place, of watching over her shoulder, or waking up afraid to see someone in her room.

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i'll do it again 'til i've got what i need

eyooooo

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HAHAHAHAHA I CAN'T BELIEVE HE WANTS THAT THING

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LOL this is why he's amazing!

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