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Post by Camille Desmoulins on Jan 22, 2008 23:39:22 GMT -5
"I liked plenty of the cards. My mother, however, wouldn't like a card that wasn't hand made and sent from Italy with a bottle of French wine," she said with a sighed, pulling out her red duct tape wallet and tapped it on the counter as her purchase was rung up. She watched Caden as he examined the two dollar disposable Kodak camera and raised an eyebrow. She was not sure what exactly he found so offensive about the little camera- she couldn't suppose it was irrational fear or disgust or else he probably wouldn't be handling it. She was disrupted from her pondering (or more precisely profiling) when he started talking. It took her a second for her brain to do a double take and reprocess the information that had been spoken. She looked at him blankly for a moment. "Oh," she said, realizing what he'd said. He offered to take nice(r) photographs of her for her mother. That would be nice- maybe make up for the lack of son-in-law and French wine. She smiled brightly to trying and cover her little space out, "Sure. I'm always a fan of killing multiple birds with one stone." The lady behind the counter cleared her throat and Imogene realized she had to pay for her purchase now. She glanced at the little green number that told her how much to pay and handed the woman a ten dollar bill, getting back three dollars and twenty-nine cents- all of the coins were dumped into the little donation for charity box that sat on the counter and she put the bills into her wallet. "Are we still going to get cocoa then?" she asked as she took her bag of card making supplies, "And are you going to go put that disposable camera back for me- since it was neglected to be added to my purchase?"
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Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Jan 23, 2008 23:42:38 GMT -5
"Oh," he said, "wow." His mother, bless her, wasn't half so demanding. He sent a card or a couple of photos he had taken (not on the job, of course), and she sent him back glowing thank you notes. He had once remembered to send her flowers on Mothers' Day, and he actually received a tearful phone call. Maybe, it was a female thing. They remembered that sort of event, so there were higher expectations. It was rather silly, but then, what would his mother do with an Italian card or French wine? The card would go on the refrigerator, just like it would have if he had bought it for a dime, and the wine would go in the cellar, never to be seen again. Neither of his parents drank, except on special occasions, and those were so rare that he suspected they had barely made it through two bottles since they had married.
He looked at the disposable camera and gave it a look that might have killed (had it been in the right mood and had the right tools and not been a lazy bum). "Where did you pick it up?" he asked. "I've never gone looking for a disposable camera before." Actually, he had once when he'd wanted to do something edgy and modern for a photography class. His professor had taken one look at it and told him to put them in the circular file. Caden had been eternally grateful to be steered away from such a dangerous class. The professor had fished them out and shown them to his intro to photography class who had thought they were edgy and modern. Caden and the professor had always got on quite well.
"Well, just don't throw in my direction. Cocoa sounds good. Do you know any small, out of the way places?"
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Post by Camille Desmoulins on Jan 24, 2008 20:04:45 GMT -5
"Aisle four, next to the stickers and across from the greeting card racks," she said, putting her wallet back in the pocket of her jacket and putting a hand on the pocket as it (rather, the mouse that was residing in there) began to squirm, she glanced at the cashier lady who didn't seem not noticed anything out of the ordinary. She paused to think of all the hole in the wall cafes that she frequented, both when following people and when on her own. She then filed through which ones were actually good. Then narrowed the list down to places that she could reasonably afford. Further to ones that were easily accessible. Further to ones that weren't extremely shady. "Yeah," she said as she came to a conclusion of which of the little places would be best suited for this occasion, "I know a place not too far off from here."
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Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Jan 27, 2008 2:04:45 GMT -5
"Why don't you show me?" he said, gesturing with the camera toward the greeting cards. Because otherwise someone will notice that there is a very annoyed, very alive mouse in your pocket and start asking questions.
"I'm not around here too often. Do you live near here?" And how in the world do you pay for a house in Uptown of all places on a detective's salary? Does going private really pay that well? It was times like that that he questioned his decision to work for the government. They just didn't pay well, and the hours were shit. Honestly, when was the last time he got to bed at a decent hour without Basil calling him half an hour later to wake him up because they had a case that needed photography that instant? Half the time, he got there and he was the only one of the team there. Who needed three underlings when you had your own eyes and a metric fuckton of photographs?
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Post by Camille Desmoulins on Jan 27, 2008 16:36:52 GMT -5
Imogene glanced at the lady at the counter again and headed back towards the place that she'd grabbed the camera from. She put her hand in her pocket to keep the little mouse still as she lead Caden back to the display of disposable cameras. Really, there were at least ten different brands of camera, none of them better then any of the others and all of them about the same price. She wondered why on earth they sold all of them. The only real difference was that they came in different colors. Was that really so important that they had to stock ten different brands?
"I wish," she said in response to his question, "No, I'm living in West. That's where my office is and if I lived any further then a few blocks from there I would just end up living in my office- well, more then I already do."
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Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Jan 29, 2008 22:20:03 GMT -5
Caden followed her slowly, watching her try to calm the mouse. When they came to the right aisle and he saw the rack the camera had come off, he was shocked to realize there were a dozen other equally worthless but brightly colored varieties. What could anyone ever want so many disposable cameras for? What could anyone ever want one for, for that matter? They weren't even economically sound; buy a good digital camera, and it could serve you far longer and far more cheaply than a series of disposable ones. Besides, you might even get decent pictures if you took enough of them. "Seems a bit excessive, don't you think?" he murmured.
"Is your mouse okay?" he asked. "I live in East, which is nowhere near where I work, but Downtown is far, far too expensive." He laughed.
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Post by Camille Desmoulins on Jan 30, 2008 21:35:05 GMT -5
Imogene nodded in agreement with his comment on the cameras. It was all very silly, but that was marketing. She started back towards the exit of the shop after he'd put back the camera. She sighed wistfully, "Downtown is much like Uptown in that it is a dream only the obscenely wealthy can achieve," she said dramatically. "Oh, and Basil is fine" she said, jumping topics, glancing at her pocket to acknowledge the mouse that was residing there, "He's been through much worse, he'll be fine." She pulled her hand out of her pocket suddenly with a little yelp and put her finger in her mouth. She furrowed her brow and took her finger out of her mouth, looking at the little bit of blood that welled to the surface, "Oww..." she mumbled as she put her finger back into her mouth and said through her finger, "She fit meh. (He bit me)" She glanced at the employee once more as they walked out and quickly pulled her finger out of her mouth as the woman gave her a strange look. She smiled brightly and quickly walked out, putting her lips to the bite again as she got out of the shop.
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Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Jan 31, 2008 21:17:23 GMT -5
Caden laughed softly. "No doubt more so. I didn't even look at the prices here," he said. "It just reeks of overpriced McMansions, don't you think?" He raised an eyebrow at her bleeding finger. He thought it best not to ask if he ought to whisk her off to the emergency room to get her a rabies shot; somehow, he doubted she would appreciate that sentiment, even if he had only the best of intentions. "Angry little guy," he murmured.
He followed her out of the store at a brisk trot, smiling at the clerk on his way out. Ah, yes, I'll forever be the Man with the Friend who Sucks Her Fingers. Well, at least, she'll remember me. "You okay?" he said, once they were safely outside. "Does he need to go home for his afternoon nap or something? I don't want you getting bit the whole time we have coffee."
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Post by Camille Desmoulins on Jan 31, 2008 21:48:08 GMT -5
She sighed and pulled the mouse out of her pocket, closing her hand around the rodent so he didn't escape. "Most likely," she said, looking at her finger, which wasn't bleeding as much anymore but still stung like crazy. She looked at the mouse which looked back at her with a little mousy fury, "He's just jealous because I'm not giving him constant attention," she discerned, and then dug into her pocket and pulled out a piece of bright orange chalk. She crouched down on the sidewalk and made a circle with a few marks on it on the ground, "But he'll just have to satisfy himself to hang around my office for a while." She set the mouse inside the circle and quickly put her finger tip on the edge of the circle. The chalk dust lifted off the sidewalk and vanished, the mouse with it. She stood up and brushed her hands off on her jeans, "I really hope I didn't send him to my aunt's house," she said, "Well, if I did then I expect I'll get a call from her before too long." She examined her wounded finger and pressed it to her lips again to wipe away the blood that had welled to the surface, she motioned for him to follow her as she set off to the coffee shop.
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Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Feb 1, 2008 23:18:24 GMT -5
Caden stared at where the mouse had been.
And he stared at Imogene.
And he wondered what the fuck was going on.
He probably shouldn't have been surprised; after all, he could feel her annoyance drifting off her in waves and his boss regularly turned into ether. Why shouldn't she... do magic? Besides the obvious logical and physical prohibitions thereon. Where, Caden wondered, was the Spanish Inquisition when you needed it? Caden needed a damn good pin right about then and possibly a bell-book-and-candle if he wasn't careful. "What just happened?"
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Post by Camille Desmoulins on Feb 2, 2008 10:32:41 GMT -5
Imogene glanced back at Caden, who she realized looked rather terrified, and took her finger away from her lips to speak again, "Ah... I suppose I should have warned you before I did that- huh?" she said, offering a sheepish grin. Now she felt bad, she really did. When you grow up in a how where asking Pass the Salt didn't involve anyone actually picking up the salt and mostly involved the salt just flying over to you, you sometimes forgot that other households did not operate that way.
"It's a charter spell, one of the few spells I consistently get right. I am not a very good sorceress. I really should have warned you before that..." she explained, hoping that he wasn't going to run off or throw a bible at her or something. Though that brought to mind the question of where on his person he had a bible but she pushed that though aside. "I.. uh... I'm sorry?" she offered.
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Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Feb 3, 2008 2:32:04 GMT -5
"A warning would have been appreciated," he managed to say. What the heck was that? "I'm afraid that I'm not used to mice popping in and out of existence. Most of the mice I know tend to stay firmly where they in the time-space continuum." And most of the girls Caden met were not witches, but then again, most of them tended to have violent auras of self-concern and misery hanging around them, and that just wasn't attractive ever.
Oh, a charter spell! Of course, I should have known. A sorceress? Gosh, I'm Harry Potter. Absolutely charmed to make your acquaintance. He shrugged. "Oh, it's all right. My boss tends to turn into a shadow when he gets upset, so I really shouldn't be so surprised if someone can send her rat home with a sprinkle of pixie dust." Struggling to regain his composure, he said, "Now, where were we headed?"
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Post by Camille Desmoulins on Feb 3, 2008 21:50:20 GMT -5
"It's twenty-five cent chalk," she said, smiling as she motioned for him to follow her again, "Hardly magic pixie dust. Though my aunt does have a jar of that in her kitchen. You can't make it anymore, since it's technically abuse to species of irregular size and there's a law against that. Apparently it was a wedding gift." She shrugged and glanced at the bite which had now stopped bleeding and then stuck her hands in her pockets, which were now mouse free.
"But I guess this is future warning; the time space continuum and I generally aren't good buddies. I break his rules far too often," she said, walking to the coffee shop and opening the door, holding it for him.
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