Filius Est Pars Patris
Characters: Charles and Pietro
Date & Time: December 27th, early afternoon
Setting: The living room
Summary: In which artifacts provoke conversations and gypsies are not deft at subtlety.
Rating: PG-ish
Status: Charlie boy and Pietro
Except for a very brief time when he'd been seven, Pietro Maximoff had never considered himself to be a discoverer. There were shades of that distinct profession in his personality, hinted at in the natural curiosity of his nature and the wandering mobility of his people, but certainly he had never been one to unearth lost worlds and leave his mark in them, a very important distinction between those who found and those who searched. Pietro was bound to flick in and out of bordered lands more often than not, to peruse them with wide-eyed wonderment before he backed away with careful precision to leave all just as he'd found it, like a child instructed not to touch a squalling baby bird lest the environment be irrevocably damaged.
So it came as a great surprise to the young man one afternoon when he came across a genuine treasure as he was clearing away the accumulated detritus in the back half of the garden shed that he'd taken over. It was a pocket watch, it's surface dulled to a weary brass shade and webbed with a fine patina of moisture marks, and it had been lying on top of a little bench, hidden beneath sunbleached paper packets of seeds so long forgotten that they'd gone brittle and rattled like the dead leaves of the season when Pietro gathered them in his hands. His eyebrows lifted in quiet suspense as he just stared at the little trinket for a moment, observed it's coiled chain (it's links broken in places, a snake come apart) and the reddish crust around it's seam. The weight of it surprised him when he finally picked it up, settling in his hand with that solid heft that came with all things of good quality. What a strange thing to have been left out here. Probably it's owner hadn't meant to neglect it so, Pietro mused. Clearly it had been in the little shed for years. He wondered how long it had been searched for before ultimately designated as lost forever.
There was an inscription on the watch's back, a fine curl of text that proved to be a monogram when Pietro rubbed the pad of his thumb over the film of dust to clear it. BAX.
Huh. Well, it didn't mean anything to him but seeing as how this was a family estate, the only right thing to do seemed to be to find the Professor and turn the little item in. Pietro slipped the watch into his pocket and rubbed his dirty hands along his trousers before heading up towards the mansion. The break would do him good, for it was a chilly afternoon and he'd been working for hours now.
After a brief detour to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, Pietro loped his way toward the corridor which led to Charles' office, a good place to start his search. As he passed the living room, a bit of movement caught at the edge of his gaze and pulled his eyes over. Ah, there was a bit of luck! The very man he'd been off to track down, already there for the seizing. Pietro smiled and strode in, his sharp features softened by the warm, slanted amusement that seemed to perpetually linger in the Serbian's expression.
"What am I thinking?" Pietro greeted with a wide grin, calling up a memory of himself as a young boy; a stick (his sword) and a particularly ornery horse that had thrown him just for the sake of being contrary and was determined to follow up the injury with the insult of a bite. No matter how many times he did this, Pietro never tired of offering up these mental bits to the Professor to snatch. It was like magic.
Date & Time: December 27th, early afternoon
Setting: The living room
Summary: In which artifacts provoke conversations and gypsies are not deft at subtlety.
Rating: PG-ish
Status: Charlie boy and Pietro
Except for a very brief time when he'd been seven, Pietro Maximoff had never considered himself to be a discoverer. There were shades of that distinct profession in his personality, hinted at in the natural curiosity of his nature and the wandering mobility of his people, but certainly he had never been one to unearth lost worlds and leave his mark in them, a very important distinction between those who found and those who searched. Pietro was bound to flick in and out of bordered lands more often than not, to peruse them with wide-eyed wonderment before he backed away with careful precision to leave all just as he'd found it, like a child instructed not to touch a squalling baby bird lest the environment be irrevocably damaged.
So it came as a great surprise to the young man one afternoon when he came across a genuine treasure as he was clearing away the accumulated detritus in the back half of the garden shed that he'd taken over. It was a pocket watch, it's surface dulled to a weary brass shade and webbed with a fine patina of moisture marks, and it had been lying on top of a little bench, hidden beneath sunbleached paper packets of seeds so long forgotten that they'd gone brittle and rattled like the dead leaves of the season when Pietro gathered them in his hands. His eyebrows lifted in quiet suspense as he just stared at the little trinket for a moment, observed it's coiled chain (it's links broken in places, a snake come apart) and the reddish crust around it's seam. The weight of it surprised him when he finally picked it up, settling in his hand with that solid heft that came with all things of good quality. What a strange thing to have been left out here. Probably it's owner hadn't meant to neglect it so, Pietro mused. Clearly it had been in the little shed for years. He wondered how long it had been searched for before ultimately designated as lost forever.
There was an inscription on the watch's back, a fine curl of text that proved to be a monogram when Pietro rubbed the pad of his thumb over the film of dust to clear it. BAX.
Huh. Well, it didn't mean anything to him but seeing as how this was a family estate, the only right thing to do seemed to be to find the Professor and turn the little item in. Pietro slipped the watch into his pocket and rubbed his dirty hands along his trousers before heading up towards the mansion. The break would do him good, for it was a chilly afternoon and he'd been working for hours now.
After a brief detour to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, Pietro loped his way toward the corridor which led to Charles' office, a good place to start his search. As he passed the living room, a bit of movement caught at the edge of his gaze and pulled his eyes over. Ah, there was a bit of luck! The very man he'd been off to track down, already there for the seizing. Pietro smiled and strode in, his sharp features softened by the warm, slanted amusement that seemed to perpetually linger in the Serbian's expression.
"What am I thinking?" Pietro greeted with a wide grin, calling up a memory of himself as a young boy; a stick (his sword) and a particularly ornery horse that had thrown him just for the sake of being contrary and was determined to follow up the injury with the insult of a bite. No matter how many times he did this, Pietro never tired of offering up these mental bits to the Professor to snatch. It was like magic.