December 07, 2018:
Lena visits Knights Past and meets a fellow sour puss.
Knights Past - Brooklyn, NYC
Characters
NPCs: None.
Mentions:
Plot:
Mood Music: [*\# None.]
Fade In…
Knights Past is a very Brooklyn sort of place: a bit obscure, extremely curated, not particularly friendly to tourists or casual consumers. The logo of the place shows a lance piercing through the words, a knight on horseback spearing through the title of the place. Jack, proprietor and sole employee, does not particularly strike a noble appearance.
He's sitting at the counter with his feet propped up, a graphic novel in his lap. He's wearing a bright printed Hawaiian shirt over a plain white t-shirt, black jeans and sneakers. He's got the heat turned up in the place because he's the one who pays the bill for it, so he might as well be comfortable. A little bell above the door jingles if anyone actually comes in. The place is a bit labyrinthine and not particularly well-lit, but on the upside, it's relatively small and the prices are high. Well, Jack considers that an upside.
*
The best thing about old junk is someone wants to buy it. Usually, that someone will gladly pay an arm and a leg just to sniff some old book that would crumble if you actually touched it. 'Rare' and 'Precious' were words she understood, but come hell or high water if she didn't understand the concept of not enjoying what you owned. Walking along the sidewalk, her body hunched slightly as the crisp winds nip at her body, she pauses only when she notices the painting of the storefront. Making a soft sound, she slips inside and reaches up, pulling back her fluff tipped jacket hood and giving her head a shake to free up her wild hair.
When her chilly gaze finds the tropical man behind the counter, she smirks easily, her eyes closing slightly in a studying peer. "Cute."
*
Jack Knight sits up a bit, even if he doesn't quite leave his insouciant posture. Most customers he just ignores until they actually need something from him, but this one, at the very least, gets acknowledged, "Evening. Anything I can help you with today?" he offers, his tattooed arms crossing over his chest. "Let me guess - lunch box collector."
*
"Cute and smart. I wish I could say yes, but only if they're from the 80's and the thermoses don't smell like spoiled milk." Keeping her smirk plastered on her features, a natural expression, really, the girl turns about on her heels and continues on into the shop, leaving behind her a few damp prints of snow. "No," she finally answers at length. "I'm fine. Just letting my eyes take in the sights." A pause, she glances over her shoulder through pale-blue fur and asks, "Why do these places have the same aroma?"
*
Jack Knight smiles, "I like to think I'm more ruggedly handsome than cute, but I'll take what I can get," he says playfully. "Feel free to shop around. Just let me know if you need help finding anything. The place is decorated in vintage chaos and not everyone can navigate on their own."
"As for the smell, I wish I could come up with a romantic and elegant explanation, but the mundane truth is that we probably mostly order the same cleaning products from the same cheap vendors at a bulk discount."
*
Rolling her pale eyes, the dark haired girl at least continues to offer him a kind enough twitch of the corner of her lips. "Please. If people don't know how to walk through a building, they're already doomed. This is child's play." Disappearing behind a towering row of stuff, the girl is lost from sight from the front counter for now. Given that she's the only one present, her steps are heard against the floor and there's the tell-tale swish of her puffy winter jacket as she moves about. "I thought it was the smell of age and refinement," she comments back. "Cleaning products just takes away the mystique." She reaches out for some little toy, moving it around in her hand, carefully, before examining for marks and its price.
*
Jack Knight pushes up to his feet, standing behind the counter and then leaning forward over it. "Age, absolutely. Refinement I don't have a lot of use for. Most of the stuff here was cheap nonsense when it was first produced. It's value comes not from the materials of which they're made, but from the memories and the culture they invoke," he says.
"Play isn't only for children anyway. At least, not anymore. Maybe back in the day, when you had to earn a living working sixteen hours in a factory or grinding behind a plow. I am glad to be in a more civilized time, as I would surely not have made it back then."
*
"Civilized." She murmurs, setting the toy back down and moving along the aisle. She turns right and loses herself in another mess of clutter, being careful to lift her feet and not trip over anything. "What if you're memories are shit. How do you sell that to someone?" She then questions, peeking around one of the cases in his direction before ducking back into the madness of his parlor. "Try again. I like this game."
*
Jack Knight nods, "Ah, but that's the trick of things like this. They give good memories, even if the rest of your life sucks. I had it pretty good, but my dad was gone a lot and I was…let's just say I didn't fit in great," he says. "It was things like these that brought me joy. Video games and posters and comic books and toy robots and…nonsense. The characters you see on the shiny plastic thingamabobs I sell are the friends of the friendless, the secret things even the sad kids keep hidden away to get a little bit of joy on a dark day. That doesn't make the bad th ings better, but it makes them more bearable, which is as close as you can get when you're a kid."
*
Silent, for a good length of time, the girl finally pulls herself out and away from a back area of the shop. Heading in his direction, she pauses before him and looks upward, casting upon him that same quizzical expression. "Do you feel that?" She asks, reaching up and gently rubbing at the underside of her nose with a dark tipped finger. "Ah, that tickle. My allergies must be flaring up. Healthy supply of bullshit in here, huh?" Sniffing, she turns her eyes toward the street, her head following before she rotates her attention back the man's way, giving him the side-eye. "Well, kitten, you keep all your warm fuzzies. If business is good, who am I to judge." She shrugs, finally correcting the direction of her skull.
*
Jack Knight watches her movements carefully. She's definitely not the usual bored shopper, which catches his eye, but also makes him a bit wary. He's all too aware of his cosmic rod underneath the counter, but he's not about to draw down on what's probably just an ordinary woman. He's probably just feeling jumpy. The superhero gig does that to you, one of the many reasons he wasn't crazy about it.
"Business is terrible, but if I was about making money, I wouldn't have gone into this business in the first place," he said. "I do it because I'm as much a junkie for this stuff as anybody. The store just gives me an excuse," he says. "No bullshit."
*
"Wrong." She lifts up a finger, turning her hand about until she's pointing at him casually. "Business isn't terrible, you're just not committed to the sale. Read your people, get your mark and tell them what they want to hear." She then points to herself. "Me? I don't need some light hearted story about good memories. That's not my style. I'll stand here and you can try again." Lowering her hand, she slips it into her pocket, resting her head back slightly as she watches him expectantly. "I don't care why you do this job, pal, or how it hooks into you. I get hooks, the barbed ones you can't pull out and away. Like I said, I'm not judging."
*
Jack Knight cocks his head, "You sound pretty judgey. Don't get me wrong, it's okay to be judgey. I'm judgey as shit. I judge that's a really nice jacket. And I judge that you're playing a game with me and I'm not sure what the rules are or if I even want to win," he says.
"I'm okay with being a bad salesman. I know really great salesmen. They're rich, they have nice suits and they're as fake and plastic as a dollar store Christmas tree. I don't mind money, but it's not the most important thing to me. Oh, and it's not just a job. I own the place, I don't just work behind the counter. So I don't answer to a boss. Not you. Not anybody."
*
Finally, a smile. Not a smirk or some half-hearted display of interest - a dimple inducing smile. Nodding, considering something silent in her mind, she thins her lips and allows them to fill back out naturally. Any lost gloss from her previous application now coats the rest of her mouth. "One more question and you might win the game." She advises, giving a smooth, almost playful, rock on the soles of her boots. "Who's your friend here? Where's your happy memory, boss?"
*
Jack Knight rolls over the counter, coming to his feet on the other side and looking the woman once over. "I have lots of friends here. But if you're looking for something special…" he says.
He leads her around a few tables to one of the back walls, where a large display has been set up. A massive spaceship, vintage from the 1960s, is on display, along with plastic figurines in silvery costume with little ray guns. "Space Rangers. It was old even when I was a kid. I tried to act like I didn't like it, because my dad was fond of science fiction and I didn't want to have it in common with him. So I snuck around and watched it on afternoons when he wasn't home or when he was away. Which was most of the time."
*
"Oh. Team Daddy-Issues, hmm? Well…I carry that card myself." She answers, having followed after him and setting her sights on his favorite contraption in the shop. Leaning closer, her nose almost touches the glass of the display. Her eyes squint as she looks harder at the tiny figures and their little guns. "Why do you display this here? Why not in your home?" Leaning back, she now glances at the man's reflection rather than him directly.
*
Jack Knight grins, "You? Daddy issues? I would never have guessed. You hide it so well," he says with a hint of teasing in his voice. The ink on his neck creeps up behind his ear, matching the colorful panoply of images marking his arms. "This is my home. I live upstairs. It's not much, but I don't need much. It was either open a shop or become a hoarder. I kind of split the difference."
*
"You, too, kitten. Like looking in a mirror." She muses in return, giving the man another genuine smile. Stepping back and away from the display, she makes a noise of acknowledgement to his answer. Now back to the counter, she digs in her pocket and places down what appeared to be a small jewelry box. "You win." She clarifies, slipping her hand back into the pocket.
*
Jack Knight arches a curious brow, "You don't seem like the needy type. Nor particularly forgiving, so I have to take your mercy with a grain of salt," he says. "Not that I'm complaining. That's a nice piece, Tiffany's, 1932. I picked it up at an estate sale in Jersey two years ago. It's a little too fancy for my usual clientele. I think I paid…800. I retail it for 2k. Not a bad profit," he says.
"You do a lot of shoplifting?" he says, his voie neutral on the subject.
*
"When I get twitchy or see something pretty." Pause, "I like blue." As if that answer was enough, she flicks the box a bit more, nudging it across the counter and back toward the 'business' side of the divide. "You have some nice pretties in here, boss, and in another life I as probably a raven or a crow or something fantastical like that." Another pause, "But you're an ass. Honest. I like honest. Even if you have it as hot as hell in here, you seem a bit cold yourself. I like cold. You win. Chumps lose their pretties and you're no chump."
*
Jack Knight smiles, "I'm going to guess you didn't google the place before you decided to case it. If you did, you probably would've seen the proprietor listed as "Jack Knight, Starman". Of course, if you did know you were thinking about swiping from a superhero's joint, that might've gotten you a few extra points for chutzpah," he winks.
"Don't worry, that doesn't mean I'm about to start moralizing at you. I've seen enough real evil to not get preachy about somebody with quick fingers. You should know, though, in a place like this? Pretty isn't always the most valuable. Dont' get me wrong, that's a nice piece, but I've got ugly pieces of shit worth ten times that."
*
"I always look at what door I'm walking through. As much as I'd love to make you feel special, this trip wasn't for me. Next one might be, though." Scoffing, she steps back, just once, and rests there for a moment. "Oh, I know. I looked at those, too. Not the score I wanted." Reaching back, she pulls at the fluff of her hood, drawing it back up and over her head, hiding her colored hair away.
*
Jack Knight walks back towards the counter, deliberately showing a bit of trust and turning his back on her as he goes back to his seat, "There are a lot of better ways to make me feel special. Maybe you'll come back again and we'll discuss a few of them. Do you like Thai? There's an excellent Thai place about two blocks of way. They deliver here so often, I don't even have to order, they see my number and they know what I want. Not that you care about any of that. But if you ever are interested, let me know. I'll order extra."
*
"Are you for real? Girl tries to pocket your goods and you ask her to dinner? Smooth." She chuckles, watching his movements from under the brim of her hood. "I like coffee a little better, but…could never say no to good food. Fine…lets make a deal." Stepping closer to the counter, she reaches out and gently taps her polished fingers on the box. "I take this with me, offer you 20 percent of the take AND agree to your invitation."
*
Jack Knight drums his fingers on his arms, "Hmmmmmmmmmmm. Well, I admit, I haven't been able to sell it. Might as well give you a shot. Consider it a commission, then," he says. "But I'll hold you to your word. I don't mind you being a bit of a crook, long as you shoot straight with me."
*
"If there's one thing I am not it's a liar, kitten." Dragging the box back her way, she places it into her pocket and winks in appreciation. "Who knew you could take things by asking." Another step back, she turns and starts heading toward the front door. "What time do you expect me back, by the way? I'm usually not one to listen to anyone or take orders from anything…not you, not anybody." She mimics his way, her back to him all the while.
*
Jack Knight admires the back and clicks his tongue against his teeth, "Oh, I'm not so foolish as to think I can hold you to a schedule. You say you can do it, I believe you. Come back when you're ready to pay what I'm owed. No sooner. No later," he says.
*
"Adorable." Hand on the doorknob, she gives it a twist and opens the barrier. A blast of cold air rolls in, causing the girl to inhale deeply and exhale the same way. "Kitten, tell me something. What's 20 percent of nothing?" Stepping out and onto the sidewalk, she looks back in giving a waggle of her fingers before closing the door behind herself. Turning, she begins to stride down the sidewalk with a smooth pace.
*
Jack Knight smiles and shakes his head. Might've been a mistake. Wouldn't be his first. One thing was for sure. It was definitely time to close up for the night. He was in the mood to put some whiskey in his coffee.