multiversallogs | 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.

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"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.

on his Italian leather sofa

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