Summary:Poor Elmo, being the helpful fix-it-up guy that he is. He gets to deal with a brief stand-off between two very old friends. Frenemies? Nemeses! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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Rosario's Electronics is a very small, rather dingy shop on the Lower East Side. Once almost exclusively Jewish, the LES is now many different cultures, Puerto Rican prominent among them. It's also the side of some of the worst gentrification in the five boroughs, along with other traditionally minority neighborhoods like Harlem and Brooklyn. The Sentinel disaster is why this tiny shop, along with every other on its block, barely survives.
Elmo is sweeping the linoleum floor, which long ago lost the ability to look clean no matter how much it's mopped. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, he's got earbuds in and he's clearly thinking about anything other than what he's doing right now.
*
Halgrim arrives, bundled up against the chill in a black peacoat, jeans, brilliantly colored scarf (the same one he always wears in the cold), dark gray knit cap, and black leather gloves. He has that old leather work bag with him, the one that looks like a movie prop from an Indiana Jones film. Seeing Elmo's mind is on the sweeping and the music in his ears, he pauses, waiting to be noticed; it wont' be long, standing there like a great big dark Norse statue as he is.
*
Having taken down the electrician's number and then using the wonder that is Google to back-trace it (with the help of one of his pub-staff, but Ambrose isn't about to reveal it), he's just about to walk through the doors of the electronics store. One Elmo Rosencrantz did promise that he could fix anything and the gentleman who pauses outside of the door to rifle through the interior of his field-coat pocket has something in need of fixing.
He glances through the glass window of the shop and espies Elmo. A nod of confirmation for the presence. The other man gets a passing leery look because…there's something weirdly…familiar? — about the silhouette. Dismissing it, Ambrose then opens the door and rather than leave Elmo in peace, he decides to interrupt him entirely. He makes to walk past the Nordic shadow as he says,
"Mister Rosencrantz! You did tell me that you could fix anything." In his hand, a set of truly expensive Bose headphones that…look like they've seen better days.
*
Elmo glances up with the classic 'why are old people bothering me' expression known well to young people everywhere. "Oh, hey Grim!" he says cheerfully enough anyway, tugging one earbud out. "What's up? Got somethin' for me?"
When Ambrose strides right in, Elmo looks at him, blanking out entirely for a few desperate moments. He pulls the other earbud out because it's too loud, he can't see Ambrose good enough. "…Rodent damage. Midtown. Right? Forgot your name." He says it without apology, but holds out his hand for the headphones. "I can fix anything, give 'er here."
*
Halgrim gives the man coming in from outside an amused look, rolling his eyes once the other's moved past him. Well, he's not in any hurry; they don't need all three register tablets working until the next school session kicks into action. Then they will; their used textbook section pulls in a fair amount of money.
"I do, but I'm in no hurry. I'll probably have to leave it with you—it's one of the tablets we use for the registers, it's acting up again." His Swedish accent is largely unchanged in the last few decades, making it a little more archaic sounding to native speakers. To anyone who wouldn't know how it should sound in 2019 it's just another Scandinavian lilt overlaid on American English. He pulls off his knit cap, unwinds the scarf a bit. Here in the close warmth of the shop he needs neither.
*
|ROLL| Ambrose +rolls 1d20 for: 3
Very much stuck in an imperious mindset given his approach and annoyance levels in the broken headphones, Ambrose nods towards Elmo. The other man is giving a passing glance and he looks back to speak to the electrician in particular again.
"Yes, the Jolly Rigger. I am the owner. My…son-in-law managed to sit upon them when he wasn't paying attention. The…" The Jackal struggles with how to describe the mechanism; it's that the audio jack of the headphones is fraying at the input of the jack itself and the port appears to be cracked from sudden weight damage. "It'll conduct the sound, but it won't do so clearly," Ambrose finally decides upon.
He gives the stranger with the odd accent another glance and then his eyes fall to the scarf.
And then he turns the shade of soured milk.
The store's lighting shines fully red in his pupils, heedless of the natural play of ambiance, and he seems to straighten up another inch even as he backs into the nearest counter.
"Oh…my bloody fucking hell, it cannot — you CANNOT — you!" All around him, the air has drawn close and thick. Elmo might feel the slightest prickling on his skin if he's close enough, like the sensation of thousands of ants.
*
"Tablet, no sweat," Elmo says to Halgrim, "drop 'er at the usual place." The usual place meaning, Halgrim has permission to go to the back of house and leave things for Elmo to repair. Sometimes Mr. Rosario is there, but today he isn't. He'd have been bustling around the two customers and singing Elmo's praises as a repair guy if he was. Elmo turns the headphones over in his hands, diagnosing the problem as, "Yeah, popped a couple pieces, some friction wear. You want the name brand stuff or you care? It costs six times what I'll charge for parts. I don't care what they say about gold-plated contacts, it's bullshi—"
That's when Ambrose starts flipping the hell out and Elmo jerks, badly startled. Electricity suddenly leaps to life around him, crackling and buzzing and nipping. "What?!" He spreads his hand, palm-side down and lightning dances from the floor to his hand. Looking around wildly, Elmo's ready to serve someone some high-voltage pain.
*
|ROLL| Halgrim +rolls 1d20 for: 16
|ROLL| Halgrim +rolls 4d6 for: 15
"Excellent," Halgrim says, and starts to move towards the back of the shop. And then all of *that* happens.
He catches Ambrose's second glance, sees his reactionthe way the light hits his eyes, the shade his face turnsand goes perfectly still. Elmo's added behavior requires him to tune in on Ambrose specifically, because it would be much too easy for Fjorskar to interpret his electricity powers as magic, which would be bad. Very bad. So he stares hard at Ambrose, and Ambrose only. "Atherton," he says in a voice so low it's nearly a whisper.
Impossibly, Halgrim looks almost the same age to Ambrose as he did fifty-odd years ago. Nothing belies the passage of all that time; at most there's maybe a little more white and gray in his hair and stubble. The only thing changed are his eyes: they used to be dark brown, and now, they're hazel green, almost yellowish around the iris.
The combined potential for disaster makes Fjorskar restless inside Halgrim. His mouth flattens, and he says to Ambrose, "Calm down, would you?" He flicks at glance at Elmo, as if to remind Ambrose where they are. "This *really* isn't the time *or* place."
*
It turns very quickly into something almost akin to a triangular Old West stand-off: there are frissons of electricity crackling in Ambrose's side vision that he ignores for the sake of holding those eerily-changed eyes, no longer a mellow, sardonic brown he knew those decades back.
Slowly, with marked care and almost supernatural grace, he slides away from Elmo along the counter. A soft shushing sound is his coat brushing along surface with its nearly pressed to his back. The headphones are seemingly forgotten entirely.
"Lindqvist." The Jackal parries with Halgrim's own surname, clipped and precise in diction nearly cut-glass via his accent. "The time or place does not matter when one might as well have returned from death." He has a hand down at the height of his hip within the shadow of his coat as he pauses to balance on the balls of his booted feet as is. A knife within reach? One of his beloved revolvers? Regardless, the master-thief's threat level, while withheld, is very real. "Where in the bloody hells have you been?!"
*
Elmo glances warily back and forth between Ambrose and Halgrim. That he is the problem here is obvious to everyone but him. He gives Halgrim a bewildered look when Ambrose says that, but Ambrose's hand at his hip makes Elmo step between them with narrowed eyes. He misses so much, but anything like a threat leaps out at him. "Don't you do nothin' to Grim! He'd never hurt anybody!"
*
Halgrim's eyes flit to Ambrose's hip, then back to his eyes. It's the kind of thing he'd have missed decades ago, wouldn't have even thought to take note of. Combat wasn't something Halgrim Lindqvist knew the first thing about. Yet now he catches as second nature, without even thinking about it. Elmo steps between them, and it becomes clearer the changes go deeper than surface level. What would have once been plenty to fill the room with the pending emergence of Fjorskar's short temper is only drawing a steadily mounting aura of tension around Halgrim, like an animal coiling to spring. Maybe the centers of his eyes are a little more yellow, maybe his voice is a few notes deeper, but it's nothing like Ambrose has experienced before.
"Listen to me very carefully, Atherton," he says, voice low and steady. "This isn't a conversation we're going to have right here, right now. Especially not like this. Or you'll find out first hand how drastically things have changed for me." Elmo might be the one standing between Ambrose and Halgrim, intending to defend Halgrim, but the sense that it's Halgrim who is behind and looming over Elmo is palpable. He relents just enough to admit, "It's a long story. Or not, depending on your point of view."
*
Elmo's an effective barrier and break in the shrewd attention the Jackal was giving Halgrim. The man blinks in blatant surprise before he lifts his chin, his lids closed to narrow slits. The winking of ruby light in his eyes plays easy correlation to one Riki Tiki Tavi with an enemy in sight.
The carmine pupils shift beyond the short height of the electrician and to Halgrim. Shockingly counter to previous interactions with the Jackal, it will be noted that rather than run his mouth and play devil's-dare with his own safety, the master-thief does in fact listen. Something's taught him to be more prudent…or given him reason enough to check the impulse. What hasn't changed is the way he polishes a canine tooth with his tongue in easy view of half-drawn lips.
"Let us share tales over a glass of wine, perhaps, professor," he says with gently venomous emphasis. "You'll find that certain things have fallen in my favor as well." He gives both men a darkly charming smile, as if he were to lower hackles but remain toothily interested. "But yes…not in front of the cockerel. That lacks honor and…circumspection." As he straightens in place, shedding the tension about his frame, his hand comes into view again. On it, a golden silicone men's ring.
*
Elmo is bristling like a fighting cock indeed, protecting Halgrim ferociously. He's like a single spark thrown from a fire against a great and terrible darkness. As Ambrose makes nice, Elmo relaxes. Somewhat. He's shaking with adrenaline. The electricity level lowers, then hisses out as he drops it. "What did you call me?" is the first thing he says, to Ambrose, annoyed. His black curls are frizzing with static; he runs a hand over them, then flicks a pop of harmless discharge away. "Grim? You okay?" Elmo's breathing hard as he looks over his shoulder to check on Halgrim. "What's goin' on?"
*
Seeing Ambrose back down is, indeed, a welcome change for Halgrim. "I'm glad to see I'm not the only one who's done some," a corner of his mouth twitches, "growing up, shall we say." It has all the halmarks of an inside joke (mostly at Ambrose's expense). "I've got a few bottles—" Ah, yes. Left to him by Leland. He sighs, and the tension bleeds right out of him. He's not something coiled up to strike now, he's just a tired old professor. "A few bottles that a friend gave me. Older vintages. We can see how they've held up." The wording is friendly, but he sounds like he's still delivering a warning. It lacks the weight of his earlier statements, though.
"I'm perfectly fine, Elmo," Halgrim reassures him. He's sincere as he says it, even manages a grateful (if amused) smile. "Thank you for coming to my defense." His gaze moves back to Ambrose. "As I said—a long story. Very long." He studies Ambrose a handful of seconds, gestures at his workbag. "Let me just go put this back there with the other things, hm?" A steady warning look for Ambrose, and he moves to the back of the shop with long-legged strides.
*
Halgrim is still privy to that knife-like attention from the master-thief even as he travels to the back of the shop. It seems if anything, Ambrose is going to attempt to win the staring contest if he can't win via sheer pithy response at this time. After the professor is out of his line of sight, he looks back to Elmo.
"Cockerel. Plucky young bird, usually very full of itself. Stringy, loud, beaky," the master-thief continues explaining with a slow unfurling of fingers in a gesture at Elmo. All of him. "Endearment, in my case. Others might use it in offense. I appreciate your bluff, lightning-master, for what it is. As to Professor Lindqvist…"
His gaze slides away and back towards where Halgrim was last seen. How he says the name is likely clue enough; he almost lingers over it as if hearing it again for the first time in a long, long time — as one might hum the opening bars to a tune lost until the first run of notes is heard again. "It would be apt to say that we have history." He takes to leaning back against the counter now with his hands in his pockets, the image of self-composed nonchalance once more. His ruddy pupils fade out to their normal state.
*
Elmo scowls at Ambrose—then shrugs. "Eh, I can't even argue with that. Especially the beak." He smirks at him like the little jerk he is, folding his arms so it's not quite so obvious that his hands are shaking. It doesn't work. Ambrose is watching Halgrim and Elmo is watching Ambrose. Especially the way Ambrose gives him a nice, slow going-over. Elmo flushes and finally looks away. Oh. "You worried me," he scolds Ambrose, while he's not looking at him. "I really woulda popped you one if you tried anything on him. I mean. Anything bad. Anything else, yannow, ain't my business."
*
Halgrim pulls the tablet out of his workbag and sets it with the rest; there's already a bright fuscia post-it note on it bearing all the relevant information for the shop, as well as his name and Gabriel's. He returns in short order, just in time to hear Elmo talk about how things aren't his business. He gives Ambrose a curious, amused look, focuses on Elmo once more.
"I'm sorry we startled you," he says, leaning a little in a way which suggests he'd touch Elmo on the shoulder except for how it's Elmo and Halgrim knows how this works. "It's been a while and we parted on," another glance at Ambrose, "very sudden and unsettled terms. So." He pulls back, starts rewinding his scarf. "No hurry on the tablet. The rush in the shop won't be for another week or so."
*
Oceanic-blue eyes continue to mark each man's actions. In weird mindfulness, the Jackal continues to memorize and to remember aspects of each. Halgrim's explanation as to the reasoning for the quick-draw reactions on display earns a soft snort from Ambrose where he reclines with confident poise against the counter still.
"You'll owe him a tale, I think, professor. Do be candid when you speak of me. I will do the same of you, should the young cockerel decide to ask after it." The way his regard lingers on Elmo almost dares the man to do so. "He thinks he can best me." A subtle tilt to the thief's head is accompanied by a smile that slowly melts into view. "It's quaint."
A short sniff and he re-crosses his ankles. "You asked earlier of the parts necessary. Cost has no meaning to me. However you choose to fix it, Mister Rosencrantz, please do so. Let me know of your fees and they will be covered. I ask for quality craftsmanship."
*
Elmo smiles hesitantly at Halgrim, his tense face softening. "Uh, right. Sudden. Unsettled. Right." That he can trust Halgrim not to grab at him, it goes a long way. He'd almost forgotten he's hanging onto the Bose headphones, and blinks down at them, then shoots Ambrose another smirk. "You're in luck, quality's the only kind I got. Them parts all come from the same factory in Taiwan anyway, they just upcharge you for the label. That's the spiel I was gonna give you if you wanted the Bose ones."
Curiosity piqued, Elmo's eyebrows go up, and he looks back at Halgrim. That he wants that story is so very obvious.
*
Halgrim licks his lips, gives Ambrose a decidedly unfriendly look when he talks of candor. "Of course," he says, tone harder than it just was. "I'll speak quite plainly of you in response to, *anything* he asks, if you intend to do the same regarding me." Another one of those veiled warnings that suggests a completely separate conversation is happening on a frequency Elmo isn't turned into.
He frowns, glances between Elmo and Ambrose. "I think you're both capable of things the other's unaware of," he says after some thought. "And unless you plan on doing real damage to one another you should leave it untested." He doesn't weight that suggestion unevenly; it's for both of them in equal measure. It's followed by a small smile which promises Elmo *some* kind of explanation, eventually.
*
"I trust your judgment, spark-maker." It has a minute and yet palpable amount of lofty bequeathing, as if Ambrose really were to be testing Elmo on his repair prowess.
"And your suggestion of tact is true wisdom, professor. I would hate to overreach accidentally." Another sharp glance at Elmo, accompanied by a flicker-flash of red in his pupils, before he look back to Halgrim again. "You think it might bother me, what you tell him?" The master-thief simply smirks as he stands upright again after uncrossing his ankles. "By all means." He spreads his hands out to his sides in edged joviality. "Inform him. Let him be the wiser for it."
From an inner pocket comes a business card that is laid upon the countertop, black print on a white backing. "The number to the Jolly Rigger is upon this, Mister Rosencrantz. Please leave me a message when you've completed your task. I will stop by again with your fee." In another marked shift in old habits, Ambrose completely turns his back upon the two men and then makes his way out of the electronics shop without further parting shot.
*
Elmo, head dipped a little, looking at the other two men from under those expressive eyebrows, can't decide what he should be doing. But then he gets a great excuse to not risk anything sincere. "Gee, thanks, it's almost like you brought it to me because you know I'm good," he snarks back at Ambrose. Relieved, really. He waves him off. "Mmkay. Call ya then. …it's Sparkplug, actually…" he adds in a self-conscious mutter. Then he sighs a deep shaky sigh and looks at Halgrim, eyebrows up. Rolls a lengthy New York shrug at him, hands turning outwards in a sign of 'the hell was that all about.'
*
Halgrim continues giving Ambrose that same stony, calm look, though his eyes narrow a touch when Ambrose speaks of 'informing' Elmo. Only once Ambrose has quit the shop does Halgrim truly relax, allowing Elmo to see the frustration gnawing at him as he blows out a breath. He coughs a laugh at the half-hearted correction, shakes his head. "We…" He stops, sighs. "He and I have known one another for a very, very long time," he says with a rueful smile. "And we know various things about one another which other people don't." A small shrug for the inevitability of old people knowing one another's secrets.