Rp, anyone? // CLOSED // oxo

(I was thinking probably really late 1890’s to early 1900’s? Still, my knowledge on Victorian history is very small, so I just did a lil research and my conclusion (although not a good one) was “everything’s formal”. Honestly, do whatever you’d like and I’ll try to follow suit (pun not intended))

Sire was already up, dressed, signed, and on his way out when Clifford caught his eye. He had been standing on the opposite side of the entrance, doing a double-take as the man began walking the opposite way.
It took him a full minute to decide if he was actually going to ask the question he had in mind. Even then, he was wondering if he should abandon the idea altogether. He pulled the coat tighter around his frame as he skipped into a slight jog, then slowing into a walk beside the man.

“Good morning, Mr. Fallow,” Sire said with a friendly dip of the head. “I have a question, if you don’t mind.”
His voice didn’t come off as threatening, but he tried to add an air of persuasive tone. He kept his voice deep and thick, maybe not the most welcoming effect.

Sire raised an eyebrow, but that was hardly representative of the overthinking occurring in his head. He hadn’t meant to scare the poor man, just to catch his attention passively.
He looked down at Clifford, his own eyes twinkling in the early morning sun. He had gotten only light rest, but by just the eyes, anyone could tell he had more juvenile energy than before.

“My apologies, sir,” he said calmly, stepping forward. He kept his hands in his pockets, not bothering to brush aside the hair across his forehead. “I was simply wondering if you… were interested…”
He took a pause, looking around slightly before continuing.
“I was wondering if you knew of someone who is knowledgeable on the subject of cryptids, sir. Anyone who knows the good, the bad, and the ugly of this city. I’m intrigued by the topic, and wish to converse with someone who shares the same… enthusiasm, so to speak.”

“The topic of discussion…,” he mumbled, trailing off slightly. “Yes, it’s certainly not dull enough to be spoken about plainly.”
He grit his teeth, locking his jaw. “Yes, we can speak in your apartment.”
Sire paused for a moment, raising a hand and looking as if he were about to say something more. He decided better if it, slipping the hand back in his pocket and rocking back on his feet.
“Thank you,” he said, looking elsewhere. “My apologies for startling you, again. And for… taking your time. Good day to you, Mr. Fallow.”

The man turned slightly abruptly, but it was casual enough for him. He’d gotten his information, so he cut his words short. He began walking down the opposite way, back of his coat following behind him.

Sire continued walking, not really having a set destination in mind. Maybe some place that would supply his ever-growing coffee addiction. It was a problem, really, but he wasn’t one to complain. He didn’t have any one to reprimand him, so why bother.
He crossed the street, a small coffee house coming into view. He slowly veered in its direction, soon pushing open the door as the lanterns outside gently swayed. They held no light, for the morning sun was all that was needed.
He took a seat at the nearest window, asking for a black coffee as a young boy took the order, hastily shuffling back to make it. He returned moments later, handing the man a dark, gritty cup of coffee. Sire didn’t mind the taste, as long as it kept him awake.

Sire kept his tired blue eyes fixed, looking through the glass and onto the cobblestone street just paces from the shop. The rain from the previous night had taken refuge between the cracks in the ground, the sun reflecting off of them brightly. A small stream danced lazily down the side, but there hadn’t been enough water for the stream to travel far. It stopped early, veering off between the stone blocks.
Sire wasn’t one to openly express his emotions, but something about the morning was peaceful. And, although he knew that wouldn’t last, he had hope for the evening. Clifford intrigued him… to say the least. Perhaps more than he’d like to admit. And Sire had caught the glint in his eye when he mentioned cryptids— he might just be the person Sire was looking for.

Slowly he took another sip of the gritty drink, setting the cup back down as he sighed. The sun shining down on the dew was a beautiful sight, and Sire wouldn’t mind sitting just a bit longer to admire it.

Sire finished off the last of his coffee, staring at the street just a little longer. Carriages rolled past, the horses pulling them always elegant and standing proud. The passengers would tip their hats to people on the side, waving in a good-morning salute. As time passed and the morning carried on, the city grew more alive.
Sire left a small coin on the table, watching the boy who had served him pocket it as he walked by. Sire stood from his seat, pushing through the crowd of people who were convinced they needed their morning fix of a warm drink.

Once outside, Sire took a moment to suck in a deep breath, the smell of rain prominent. He continued on shortly after, walking back the way he had come.
Did he have a plan? Know where he was going? No, not really. His only to-do mark on his agenda was, “Wait for Clifford.” But… perhaps he should educate himself beforehand.
With a quick pivot on his heel, Sire banked out of the gateway to the apartments, heading down the street to the local bookstore.

The local bookstore caught Sire’s eye. He crossed the street, glancing from oncoming carriages to past ones, skipping quite lightly across the cobblestone.
Sire had never been the kind of person to really… spend time out in the public eye long enough to browse a bookshop. Still, the thought of being in a cramped store with many people.. not to mention the silence of those stores.. well, the subject made him anxious, to say the least.

He walked through the doorway, clearly putting on blinders as he glanced through the sections. Finally finding the mystery section, he looked up from the bindings, seeing Clifford sorting the books just paces away.
He stood still, and although he felt a slight bit surprised, his face stayed stoic and emotionless.
“Oh— Uh— Hello, sir,” Sire said, his voice light.

Sire cocked his head, squinting for a moment. It was almost as if Clifford hadn’t recognized him. Honestly, Sire wasn’t too surprised. He could either been seen as just a passing face, or be stuck in someone’s mind forever. There wasn’t a strict in-between.

“N-No,” Sire mumbled, stuttering slightly. His face quickly changed back to it’s usual emotionless stone. “Just… looking.”
He paused for a moment, his eyes on the books below.
“Actually,” he muttered, his voice almost a hum. “Any recommendations?”
He figured— if he was already going to go over all four sides of cryptids that evening— maybe something to pass the time wouldn’t be too bad.

Sire nodded, keeping his composed demeanor prominent from outside. Though part of him wondered why Clifford acted like they were str—
Huh, Sire though to himself. I guess we are strangers.
For some reason, it hadn’t felt like it. And, if anything, Clifford seemed slightly… hostile. Had Sire done something? Did he say something wrong?
He subtily shook his head. He wasn’t normally like this— overthinking every little detail. But something about Clifford made Sire feel… almost vulnerable. The thought equally and simultaneously piqued his interest and terrified him.
“I’ve read The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but I’m not sure I’ve heard of the latter,” he replied, as if his mind was processing no thought at all. “Where might I find it?”

Sire gave a nod, letting a small smile tug on his face before turning around, beginning to walk to the said section.
“Thank you, sir,” he called over his shoulder. In reality, he had turned to hide his slight smile. He hadn’t known why it came, what it was there for, or how it managed to slip past his incredibly thick-built wall. But it did. And he didn’t like it.
Before letting out another word, Sire flew behind the bookshelves, beginning to search for the author.

What am I doing? he thought to himself. The smile had completely faded. This guy’s a stranger. I just need his help for a little while.
He shook his head as if that would jar his thoughts. Much surprise, it didn’t work.
“Oscar Wilde, Oscar Wilde…” he mumbled unconsciously to himself as his fingers skimmed the binds. He finally spotted it, took it from its stand, and flipped open a few pages. The parchment was worn, much like the cover, but the text was readable and carefully pressed.
And, upon the front, in quite extravagant writing, stood the words, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

(Sorry that took so long! And don’t worry about small breaks— I have them too. Sometimes… longer than I mean them to be.)

Sire was planning on just simply buying the book and leaving, not necessarily reading it any time soon. However, as his pale fingers skimmed the bleached parchment pages, he found the black print words engraved in his mind. He stood there, absorbing the comfortable feel of the bookstore, and the carefully worded literature of the book in his hand. It was quite elegantly written, he would say. But, that was low by even Sire’s standards— he hadn’t read much.

Still, he was completely engulfed by the book the second he had opened the first couple pages. It was truly hooking, to say the least. The entire concept, at that. The character interactions between Lord Henry Wotton and Basil Hallward— the young handsome man, Dorian— the book in its entirety. It would be one Sire liked, he could tell already. Although, he couldn’t say he agreed with the hedonistic view of Wotton, or the wishes of Mr. Gray, it was entertaining nonetheless.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, his black hair falling into his bright blue eyes, stroking it aside with a light thin hand. He took calm breaths, feeling more at peace than he had felt in a long, long while. It wasn’t until he caught Clifford’s eye that his heart sped, but he roped it back into submission the second he averted his eyes once more, having them scan over the printed words instead.

Sire looked down at Clifford, the gesture somewhat forced as he pried his eyes from the book. Truth was, he hadn’t thought it through that far. He had simply been caught in the book, willing to buy it whether he read the whole thing or not.

“Oh, my apologies, sir,” he mumbled. His face held little true expression, yet his eyes seemed like a puppy who had just been told “no.” Quickly regaining himself, they turned back to the ice they had previously been. “I just got… hooked. It’s quite the interesting read already.”

Shutting the book with one hand, he slipped the other into his dark coat pocket. Light pooled in from the windows, his cold eyes glinting as he looked over Clifford. He had already been true to himself with his thoughts on this man, so no revisiting of any potential inkling was necessary for the sake of his mind.

He gave a polite smile, letting the arm holding the book rest limp by his side. “I’ll take it, then. How much for it?”

Noting the man’s step back, Sire stayed put. Almost ungodly still— a thing he was sometimes too good at it scared people. Part of him wished it didn’t. Part of him wished he didn’t scare people in general. Yet, that was the only thing he knew how to do. But… he got information when he needed it in quite the different way. Not that he was a romancer, but some told him he had a way with those words.

“Of course,” he said, his deep voice holding no rasp at all. He took his other hand out of his pocket, in the palm of it resting the two silver coins. He let the hand rest by his side like the other, standing there like a post and awaiting Clifford to lead him to the front counter.

Sire understood now. Simply professional, he was. The distant demeanor was nothing of Sire’s own effect. Possibly. He couldn’t be too sure, his mind still trying to understand the man in front of him. His own smile faded, beginning to hold up that cool and calm stationary expression once more.

“Shall we?” he asked quietly, his limp hand stroking the frayed binding of the book.

Sire did as asked, handing over the two cold silver coins. Possibly too cold for being held in a human hand, but the man always ran colder than most.
His hand held steady as he handed the coins, his fingers brushing gently against Clifford’s palm. He was much warmer, Sire had to admit the change in temperature sent a shiver up his arm. He ceased to flinch or show it at all, just slipping his hand back into his pocket.

His other hand kept stroking the binding of the book, a pale finger fiddling with the fray. His eyes wandered to the window on his left, noting the sun’s ascent higher in the sky. The dew had risen from the ground, just the plain dry cobblestone there to reflect the bright day. Few clouds dotted the sky, giving him the impression that either later this evening or tomorrow a larger storm would be on it’s way. But he didn’t mind— at least he had a place to stay now. Unlike before, where he had to take some… interesting actions to stay in an actual building.

Sire blinked his eyes, bringing himself back to the present. He broke his gaze over to meet Clifford, waiting for him to give the affirmation he was okay to keep reading.

Sire gave a slight nod.
“My apologies. Just caught in the nice day,” he muttered, more to himself than to Clifford.

He turned, holding the book tightly in his hand and walking to the door just paces away. Did he know where his next destination was? Unlikely.
He paused for a second before looking back to the other man.

“Thank you, sir,” he called back, although his voice seeming stayed the same fluctuation, calm and drifting through the air. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Have a nice morning.”

Without another word, or before another could be spoken, Sire slipped out the door and began his trek down the street. Maybe he’d go back to his newly bought apartment. Or possibly another shop. It would all be where the road would take him, or whichever showed first.