multiversallogs | on his Italian leather sofa

Entry tags:

on his Italian leather sofa

Who: Hellboy and OPEN!
What: Hellboy tries to get some stuff for his apartment, and maybe meets up with some people along the way.
Where: Furniture shops in the Aspic bazaar.
When: Coardi, 15 Shadri
Notes: Please note that this post is heavily backdated, because I meant to do it a long time ago but have been busy until recently.
Warnings: Not very likely.

Hellboy hadn't been living in his apartment for very long when the first creature invasion happened, and thus he hadn't had much time to make the place much of a home yet. He'd gone out for a week of mostly non-stop on-the-go monster-killing, and in the time he'd been away, crawlers had made their way up through his unsealed pipes and set about making a mess of his place. Luckily, he'd happened to close his bedroom door on his way out, so his bed was safe upon his return, but the one chair he'd gotten for his living room was a total loss.

It had taken a few days more to deal with the immediate aftermath -- clearing out the crawlers, cleaning up the mess, being interrogated by the Militia, taking part in a Hellsing celebratory barbecue -- but he'd finally managed to free up the time to do some shopping. He'd heard that the Aspic bazaar had a pretty wide variety of shops, so that's where he's wandering around, looking to see what catches his eye and enjoying the diversity of the populace milling about around him. At times, it almost feels like being a seven foot tall red-skinned demon man might be comparatively normal.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hellboy side-eyes over at Pickman, more out of surprise at having been watched than anything else, and then lets out a snort of laughter.

"Sturdier materials would help, too." He turns to the proprietor. "So how 'bout it, pal? You got anything here that won't crumble under me?"

The shopkeeper smiles sheepishly -- he was hoping for an easy you-break-it-you-bought-it sale -- and gestures further into the store, where he starts leading the way. Hellboy looks back at Pickman, shrugs, and makes a little come-on head gesture.

Fuckin' A! He gets to tag along with the big red guy. Score one for being a nosy bastard.

"Daddy was an architect," Pickman claims as he follows Hellboy. His gait is more than a little off, the kind of awkward lope that suggests some serious foot pain being ignored. "Bored me t'shit, but I still picked some shit up. I know load bearing when I see it, yeah?". He glances over at the shopkeeper, smirking a little.

(The claim is at least half accurate -- Old Man Pickman was an architect. How much his progeny actually picked up is... less certain.)

"Well, then, you can offer second opinions." Why not. While he is looking to actually buy some stuff by the end of the day, he's not a terribly serious shopper, and can appreciate an entertaining diversion. He extends his left hand. "Hellboy."

The shopkeeper finally brings them to a halt. "Here, here. While I admit that that chair was maybe not quite your type--" He shrugs as though this were a matter of taste, not structural integrity. "--I think this will be much more to your liking." He makes a gesture at... a couch. It's pretty solidly built, and maybe even a little overstuffed for comfort. It's also very brown.

"Richard Upton Pickman. Call me whichever." He gives only a slight pause (Hellboy is very large, after all, and he's not particularly used to shaking with his left hand, to boot) before putting his hand in Hellboy's.

It is pretty obvious that there's something... many somethings... off about Pickman, from first sight. A less obvious detail presents itself when the artist shakes Hellboy's hand -- the silver ring he wears, with an elder sign and accompanying markings engraved in it. It's not something he thinks about at all, though, at the moment, continuing to grin up at his new friend.

"That so? Pleasure to meet you, Hellboy."

When they stop at the couch, he pops forward, circling around it and dropping to the ground to check out the legs, and exactly how sturdy it seems from down there.

"Nice to meet you too, Richard."

Hellboy's friends have included fish-men, homunculi, and ghosts, not to mention the various folks he's met first in Bete Noire and now in Baedal. While he notices Pickman's obvious weirdnesses, they don't bother him too terribly. Truthfully, he's more concerned about the couch, sighing at the look of it.

"I don't suppose it comes in any other colors."

The shopkeeper momentarily looks a bit offended, but quickly smooths it over. "Just what you see here, sir."

"Mm." He scratches at his little goatee for a moment, then decides to try the couch anyway. "Well, maybe I could put some blankets over it. Richard, let me know how it's looking." He settles himself in slowly, and the couch takes his weight like a champ. "Interesting jewelry, by the way."

"Y -" You could use a slipcover! he very nearly volunteers. But what the fuck, no. That's a stupid thing to say, and he isn't going to look stupid in front of the awesome giant red guy. He makes a face at himself, and tries to look busy peering under the couch. "Lookin' good down here." And it does, as far as he can tell. Nothing's shifting or cracking...

He gets distracted from that by Hellboy's last comment, perking up. He recognises his ring? That could make a lot of things easier. Or more difficult. "Better safe'n sorry, yeah? You familiar?"

"Hm. Good. Hang on, let me check..." He shifts over to the other side of the sofa, so that he can see how his Right Hand feels on that arm rest. The results are pretty good, the overstuffed padding of the rest cushioning the massive cylinder of his forearm while the flat stony fingers settle into a natural curl around the end. "Hm. Yeah, there's possibilities, here."

Hellboy chuckles when Pickman perks up, and reaches into one of the pouches on his belt. What he pulls out is an amulet on a chain, and sure enough, there's an elder sign engraved on it, surrounded by a number of other symbols and some Old Lemurian writing. "I'm a paranormal investigator. It comes with the territory."

A low whistle. "Nice, fuck." His eyes dart to the other pouches, considering what else might be in there. 'Paranormal investigator.' This guy's probably got his shit together. Seriously. "So, hey, you got any 'pinions on ghouls an' such?"

Because that's not a completely transparent line of questioning, at all.

It should also be noted that, while mention of it may have been missed in earlier narration, Hellboy also carries a golden-handled sword in a scabbard on a baldric, which he has to unsling from his back to do his test sitting.

Meanwhile, Pickman's question is entirely transparent, as Hellboy has only been ignoring the dead flesh smell, not failing to notice it. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth, obviously fighting to maintain his temper.

"I have to admit, Richard, they're not really my favorite kind of people," he says, his tone studiously even, his choice of pronoun chosen to keep this as calm and theoretical a discussion as possible. Wouldn't want to start a fight in the store, after all, even if his real opinion on ghouls was that they were worse than cannibals. "However, this city being what it is, I could make allowances, depending on how they get their food. Killing people is bad. Grave robbing is bad. Arrangements where I don't have to be called in to deal with it... Well, a ghoul with that kind of arrangement, I might not have a problem with."

The shopkeeper, by this point, is starting to look distinctly nervous.

Pickman is, for all appearances to the contrary, a fairly socially astute person. He just typically uses his knowledge for evil... or at least, annoyance. He can tell when a situation is starting to turn bad.

The way he kind of hunches up as Hellboy speaks is remarkably reminiscent of canine body language, spelling out his apprehension and disappointment loud and clear. It's far too easy to imagine him with flattened ears and a tail curled between his legs. But one doesn't survive as a scavenger, or an artist, or a prep school outcast, without knowing how to think fast, and talk faster. "In a place like this, who'd have to?" His fingers twitch, wanting something to fidget with, but all he has is the edge of the couch, and the strap of his messenger bag, and the same sort of instinct that kept him from reaching into his pockets in front of a cop keeps him from messing with the latter. "S'all open, yeah? 'less you were tryin' to start trouble, like some fuck."

Please believe him, giant red man, he is not this fuck.

"That's right, Richard," he replies, quietly pleased to see that Pickman can see where he's going. "I'm sure that a clever and resourceful ghoul has already found and made such arrangements, so neither the Sheriff, nor the Militia, nor guys like me need to be called. A ghoul could live a very long time without trouble, that way."

Now that they've established this, Hellboy is going to outright pretend that this is the case, for the time being. He takes a deep, cleansing breath, and his mood lightens considerably as he stands up and puts his sword back on his back. "I'll consider it."

The shopkeeper, briefly relieved by not having a fight break out in his store, is then just as quickly dismayed. "...'Consider?'"

"'Consider.'" Now that he isn't keeping a raging temper in check, he can manage a bit of a scowl without it threatening imminent mayhem. "I still have some other shops to look at today, and don't think I haven't forgotten your earlier stunt. I'll let you know what my decision is, when I make it."

He'd already been leaning toward that approach to the issue, due to what he'd already gathered about the place, and -to be perfectly honest - the sheer novelty of the option. The only thing that had had him considering otherwise was the idea of the cost - once you get used to never paying for your meals, it's hard to go back. But not being hunted down by the gentleman in front of him seems well worth the monetary expense.

He flashes a nervous, close-mouthed smile, and nods. Yessir.

And then Hellboy looks to be about to leave, and it would be a great time to slip away, without too much fuss...

"You needin' any help with the rest it?"

...or not.

The shopkeeper makes one last rally to salvage his dignity. "Well, sir, I can't guarantee that the merchandise will still be here if you come back later."

Hellboy snorts in reply. "That big brown thing? I'll take my chances." He looks back over at Pickman. "I think I'll be fine, Richard. But thank you," he says, with apparent sincerity. "By the way, if a ghoul happened to be having trouble making legal arrangements, Hellsing has people whose job is helping with that sort of thing. The Guild Hall's in the CiD map."

Having done what he considers to be his good deed for the day, he walks out, readying a cigarette in the process.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

on his Italian leather sofa

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject