[OPEN LOG] Man about town...

[purmoncul]

WHO: Sirius Black...AND YOU?
WHERE: A) His warehouse, B) Sandust Bookstore, C) Xavier's Institute, D) Central Park
WHEN: Anytime over the weekend
WARNINGS: YOU HAVE ALL HEARD SIRIUS TALK BY NOW.
SUMMARY: General post for CR purposes!
FORMAT: Paragraph, but I ain't picky

Comments

Sanddust bookstore; monday morning

[the_enemy_ace]

He had found the shop's small German-language section and was slowly stacking up what would, he lamented, be a considerable purchase on his limited funds. But he had been without literature entirely too long.

Ah, a treatise on the fall of the Second Reich. He put that one back. He'd been there, he had no need to hear someone explaining why they'd lost. They'd died more than the allies, the end. When you try to punch the whole world in the eye, things tend to go wrong, don't they?

He eyed a volume of Goethe, skipping entirely over a biography of Wagner. He'd never cared for the man or his music.

[purmoncul]

The massive black dog watched this go on with an almost accusatorily doleful eye. The man had not petted him, and was actually perusing the shelves. This meant that he was going to buy things. Which meant that not only was Padfoot going to have to get up and turn into Sirius, he was going to have to do maths as well.

It was almost like the man thought this was a store and not a glorified sunbeam and dust mote factory! People these days..

[the_enemy_ace]

He always had liked dogs. He reaches out, petting the friendly-looking fellow absently.

"Sorry, old chap," he says, smiling, "I have no treats for you. Next time I will come prepared." He picks up his pile of books, heading for the front counter. He places them down with a satisfied sound, and rings the bell for service.

[purmoncul]

The dog gave a wuff of acknowledgement and then dragged himself to his feet, yawning and stretching dramatically. He trotted to the back room, chuffing again over his shoulder for all the world as if to say 'hang on a tic, I'll get the lazy blighter,' and then disappeared through a doorway in the back.

"Hang on, hang on, I'm coming. Hullo sir. I hear you want helping." The young man who emerged a moment later is a bit sleepy eyed and shaggy-haired himself, but he smiles benignly enough. "Find everything you wanted?"

[the_enemy_ace]

He looked casually towards the back room.

"That is an exceptionally well trained dog. Friendly, too. And yes, I did, thank you very much. First shop I have found with texts written in German. I was beginning to lose all hope."

[purmoncul]

The dog in question doesn't reappear, and Sirius continues on toward the front counter smiling without a trace of irony.

"Yes, he's a treasure. [Our collection is not large,]" Sirius replies, switching to somewhat rusty German, "[and it is mostly supplied by estate sales. However, if you are looking for a particular tome, Mr. Lupin has contacts that may be of help.]"

It's an odd accent - British and Upper Saxon, somewhat archaic. The speaker seems to be pretty proud of it, though.

[the_enemy_ace]

He actually cracks a rare smile at that. You're talking to a scion of the old Bavarian nobility, even if he doesn't act like it. The accent is very familiar to him. It's the proud look that makes him smile. He hasn't seen anyone actually pleased to manage German in a very long time.

"[Nothing in particular,]" he replies, in German that is fluid, formal, and in a tone of voice clearly used to command, "[But philosophies and poetry and novels are to be preferred. When one has lived what is now considered history, it is rather odd to see historians commenting upon you and your age like long-departed ancestors.]"

[purmoncul]

Sirius's smile stays on, but it leaves his eyes. Considering his dramatic exodus from being the scion of one of the proudest old wizarding families around, he's got a complicated relationship with nobility. He doesn't trust people who put on airs, whether those airs are inherent or not.

A good salesman would offer to take Von Hammer's contact information, and get in touch with him if they found more German books, regardless of personal prejudice. Sirius is not a good salesman.

All the same...

"[There are some antique tomes. Goethe, and an illustrated Parzival.]"

They're in a glass case behind the counter with other rare books. Sirius takes out the Sorrows of Young Werther, and a slim volume from the 1920s containing a modern transcription of the story of Sir Percival, with color plates of the original illustrated manuscript. Both are lovely. Both are expensive.

[the_enemy_ace]

He switches back to English, smiling. And wondering about this young man. Something about the eyes. It isn't that he has good inherent instincts for people. It is merely that he has seen humanity pushed to the furthest extremes of cruelty and survival. He knows when something is amiss.

"Your German is positively Imperial, sir. I was surprised to hear it spoken. I spoke it rarely, even when I was young. It was always...what is the English word...stultifying? Formal and swaggering."

His relationship with nobility is complicated, too. The scions of the old families all signed up in 1914, for Emperor and country. They mostly died. He did not. His world was always one apart, his authority from the desperate struggle to keep others alive. Death is, he would point out if pressed, without social prejudice.

He looks at them, shaking his head.

"Beautiful works, but I could not afford such things. These modern...softcovers? They simply do not compare to the craft of such things."

[purmoncul]

Sirius nods and puts the Goethe back. "Thanks. I should probably go and learn how normal people speak it. My tutor was old enough to have read the first edition of this thing." Which is an exaggeration, but given the lifespans of wizards, not by as much as one would think.

The Parzival goes back too, and he pulls out the ledger to record and total up Von Hammer's purchase.

[the_enemy_ace]

He smiles, briefly. He really ought to be used to things like this by now, but the ancient, the powerful...it is all very strange, still.

"A wise being, for that age, I should hope."

He pulls out his wallet.