[open]

[heirring]

WHO: Flint, Wysteria, Miriam, Cassius & You
WHAT: Catch-All
WHEN: Post-dreams, nebulously Guardian-ish
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Warnings (if any) in subject lines.

((OOC NOTE: Anything in bold is closed to one thread, though group threads a-okay.
Feel free to turn this into action brackets if The Spirit Moves You.
Wildcards welcome, bespoke starters available upon request.))

Comments

[heirring]

"They are not yet for sale," Wysteria clarifies. "I have tasked this gentleman with telling me what price could be had for them were I to choose to sell. However, it seems I may need to look elsewhere for that as well."

With a definitive click of the little case's hinges, Wysteria shuts the set sample away.

"I don't suppose you know of a more reliable contact in the trade, do you serrah?" This to Edgard. To the Offended Appraiser, she says, "I mean no offense, but under the circumstances even you must admit that the question is legitimate."

[muckspout]

He watches the case close, stares for a moment at the place it rested and then flicks his eyes up to Wysteria.

"Edgard." Edgard says pointedly. He takes a sidelong glance at the Appraiser, gives him a pained close lipped smile. He edges slightly in, closing the man off from the conversation.

"I do, as a matter of fact. But, uh, I have a question or two about the merchandise. Maybe I can take you to him?" He jerks his head to the left, indicating that she follow him.

[heirring]

There is a clear moment of measurement in which Wysteria glances between both Edgard and the Appraiser. For a moment, it seems like she might insist on lingering—it would benefit her argument, you see. Hike up the price with this gentleman here. But then, with a great sigh and a farewell to the Kirkwall merchantman, she dredges the closed case from the table and tucks it resolutely under her arm.

She turns to Edgard.

"Very well. Lead on, serah."

[muckspout]

"Edgard." He corrects again and walks away from the appraiser.

After they are a fair distance away, near a stand selling some sort of sausages, he turns to Wysteria, face thoughtful and worried, "Wysteria, where did you get the silverware?"

He says it measuredly. He will watch her face carefully as she responds.

[heirring]

With the case tucked protectively under her arm--they are, after all, in Lowtown and Wysteria Poppell has learned not to dredge anything too valuable around through certain Kirkwall neighborhoods, this being definitively one of them--, Wysteria follows him gamely enough. And judging by the twin flickers of defensiveness and suspicion which bloom in her face the moment Edgard draws up, she was under the impression that he really did know and intend to lead her to a better appraiser.

It puts her slightly back on her heels; she turns slightly away, expression narrowing to a sharp point.

"Why do you ask?"

[muckspout]

Edgard slowly folds his arms over his chest, studying her while he does. Everything he knows about Wysteria seems to contradict itself and this seems particularly out of place in his mind. He narrows his eyes to mirror hers.

"Seem to recall," He says, almost droll, "that you don't look kindly on selling stolen items."

Their last encounter he had considered for just a moment the good he could do with money gained by selling an item they had found. She was all disapproval then.

[heirring]

There is a beat in which she simply looks at him, that narrowness in her expression unchanged. And then she goes very sharp, drawing herself up to her full height. The frown intensifies; a certain flush of color crawls up the back of her neck at into the very tips of her ears. Outrage is a very distinct look in Miss Wysteria Poppell.

She cinches the case very tightly against her side indeed.

"Are you suggesting that then are stolen goods, sir?" No, more importantly (and you can tell it's more important because the pitch of her voice ratchets up by a mark or two)-- "Are you accusing me of theft?"

[muckspout]

Edgard steps back a few steps. He knows logically that he is bigger than her and that she is highly unlikely to hurt him, but the sight of her impending rage is enough to spook him. He stops himself from reacting like a soldier (deny and obey) and takes a moment before responding.

"Think those are stolen goods. Trying to figure out if you know that."

He holds up his hands in the same manner he would to prevent his own murder.

"You don't seem like a thief to me, but I've been wrong before." He says all of this in a quiet tone, like he would to calm an animal.

[heirring]

"I will not stand here for this slander, sir. First you accuse me of being a thief, and next you suggest I am too ignorant to even realize I have committed a crime! It is outrageous, Messere."

She is flushing quite hot, color flooding into her cheeks now. The mortification of the situation and the eyes being drawn in this direction (by her shrill response, but that is hardly the point!) are a very distinct form of embarrassment.

"These are my property, thank you. And you would do well to explain to me why you would jump to any other conclusion so readily."

[muckspout]

Edgard starts waving his hands wildly and backing up even more. He looks self consciously around at the attention drawn and puts a finger to his lips.

"Wasn't trying to say you were ignorant! People end up with stolen goods all the time. It doesn't mean they are a thief, it means they might have interacted with a thief without knowing it."

He points back at himself. "And I said that you didn't seem like a thief!" Edgard runs his hands through his hair. Once again, he is being deliberately misunderstood. He huffs and then responds in a low harsh whisper.

"Someone round these parts is stealing silverware like those. Trying to.." He gestures vaguely. "figure it out."