(I was thinking probably really late 1890’s to early 1900’s? Still, my knowledge on Victorian history is very small, so I just did a lil research and my conclusion (although not a good one) was “everything’s formal”. Honestly, do whatever you’d like and I’ll try to follow suit (pun not intended))
Sire was already up, dressed, signed, and on his way out when Clifford caught his eye. He had been standing on the opposite side of the entrance, doing a double-take as the man began walking the opposite way.
It took him a full minute to decide if he was actually going to ask the question he had in mind. Even then, he was wondering if he should abandon the idea altogether. He pulled the coat tighter around his frame as he skipped into a slight jog, then slowing into a walk beside the man.
“Good morning, Mr. Fallow,” Sire said with a friendly dip of the head. “I have a question, if you don’t mind.”
His voice didn’t come off as threatening, but he tried to add an air of persuasive tone. He kept his voice deep and thick, maybe not the most welcoming effect.
(oh, perfect. i was worried we were going 1840s-ish, and i cannot stand men’s fashion from that bit, this rocks. thank you)
Clifford jolted out of his own little world, his posture stiffening as his head snapped over to meet Sire’s voice. “Good god-!” He yipped, clearly caught off guard. “First off, Mr. McLinnen, never do that to me again. Second- I’m on my way to work, sir, if you’d be so kind as to make. It. Quick.” He bit off that last bit, finally feeling that sudden rush of adrenaline wearing off. He stopped on the sidewalk, waiting (somewhat impatiently) for Sire to ask his question. Sire’s voice, though irritating at the moment, no doubt intrigued Clifford.
Sire raised an eyebrow, but that was hardly representative of the overthinking occurring in his head. He hadn’t meant to scare the poor man, just to catch his attention passively.
He looked down at Clifford, his own eyes twinkling in the early morning sun. He had gotten only light rest, but by just the eyes, anyone could tell he had more juvenile energy than before.
“My apologies, sir,” he said calmly, stepping forward. He kept his hands in his pockets, not bothering to brush aside the hair across his forehead. “I was simply wondering if you… were interested…”
He took a pause, looking around slightly before continuing.
“I was wondering if you knew of someone who is knowledgeable on the subject of cryptids, sir. Anyone who knows the good, the bad, and the ugly of this city. I’m intrigued by the topic, and wish to converse with someone who shares the same… enthusiasm, so to speak.”
The energy behind Sire’s eyes was more than a little off-putting to Clifford, but his body language noticeably improved with the mention of cryptids. He snorted lightly.
“I do know someone, as a matter of fact. Myself.” He shifted his weight onto the opposite foot. “What all would you wish to speak about? I do not have the time at the moment, but when I return back this evening..” Clifford took a slight breath. “Then we can discuss. Would you consider speaking with me in my apartment? I have more.. evidence, so to speak.”
Clifford’s head occasionally moved to see if anybody was watching them. Nobody was, but the topic had a nasty habit of making Clifford feel like he was being watched.
“The topic of discussion…,” he mumbled, trailing off slightly. “Yes, it’s certainly not dull enough to be spoken about plainly.”
He grit his teeth, locking his jaw. “Yes, we can speak in your apartment.”
Sire paused for a moment, raising a hand and looking as if he were about to say something more. He decided better if it, slipping the hand back in his pocket and rocking back on his feet.
“Thank you,” he said, looking elsewhere. “My apologies for startling you, again. And for… taking your time. Good day to you, Mr. Fallow.”
The man turned slightly abruptly, but it was casual enough for him. He’d gotten his information, so he cut his words short. He began walking down the opposite way, back of his coat following behind him.
“Thank you.” Clifford concluded, pausing when he saw Sire’s hand, Sire’s pause, and then Sire’s ultimate decision to not push the subject further. He cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. “You’re quite alright.” He cleared his throat. “Good day, Mr. McLinnen. I suppose I’ll speak with you later today.”
He watched him turn for a moment before continuing his commute once more. Clifford was a quick walker, especially now, trying to get to the bookshop before he was late for work. He turned into the store, shutting the door behind him and getting behind the desk just as the bells in the campanile struck 8 AM. He immediately got to organizing books once more, placing them back onto their shelves
“Good morning, mister Fallow!” A cheery old man’s voice chimed out, emerging from the back room.
Sire continued walking, not really having a set destination in mind. Maybe some place that would supply his ever-growing coffee addiction. It was a problem, really, but he wasn’t one to complain. He didn’t have any one to reprimand him, so why bother.
He crossed the street, a small coffee house coming into view. He slowly veered in its direction, soon pushing open the door as the lanterns outside gently swayed. They held no light, for the morning sun was all that was needed.
He took a seat at the nearest window, asking for a black coffee as a young boy took the order, hastily shuffling back to make it. He returned moments later, handing the man a dark, gritty cup of coffee. Sire didn’t mind the taste, as long as it kept him awake.
“Good morning to you too, Mr. Kipling!” Clifford called back, still hard at work with his organization and reorganization. “How did the evening treat you, sir?”
“Well, well!” Evidently, the old man’s hearing wasn’t exactly stellar. His voice was crowing and creaky, trying to project the normally soft tones across the room- it was worth noting that the shop was small. He absolutely didn’t need to be shouting, and yet he was anyway. “Don’t you worry about me, lad.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Kipling. Did we get a new shipment in today?” Clifford nodded in the direction of both a few crates and a few tall stacks of books.
Sire kept his tired blue eyes fixed, looking through the glass and onto the cobblestone street just paces from the shop. The rain from the previous night had taken refuge between the cracks in the ground, the sun reflecting off of them brightly. A small stream danced lazily down the side, but there hadn’t been enough water for the stream to travel far. It stopped early, veering off between the stone blocks.
Sire wasn’t one to openly express his emotions, but something about the morning was peaceful. And, although he knew that wouldn’t last, he had hope for the evening. Clifford intrigued him… to say the least. Perhaps more than he’d like to admit. And Sire had caught the glint in his eye when he mentioned cryptids— he might just be the person Sire was looking for.
Slowly he took another sip of the gritty drink, setting the cup back down as he sighed. The sun shining down on the dew was a beautiful sight, and Sire wouldn’t mind sitting just a bit longer to admire it.
“We did!” Mr. Kipling nodded enthusiastically. He was a short man, his stature definitely easily recognizable from a lineup. A jolly disposition, short and round, a rosy nose and rosier cheeks. His round glasses sat perched atop his crooked bridge, reflecting the fresh sunlight just so. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Fallow, could you please begin to put them away? I’m afraid I can’t do it myself.” He picked up a few books on his own, beginning to put them away as if he were demonstrating the act.
“Of course I can, sir.” Clifford moved to the table, picking up an armful of books. They would be alphabetized by genre, of course. “These should sell rather well, I think. I know that mysteries are very popular- as I’m sure you are as well- I’m rather fond of them myself, in fact.” He finished stocking his first armful of books, going back for a second.
Sire finished off the last of his coffee, staring at the street just a little longer. Carriages rolled past, the horses pulling them always elegant and standing proud. The passengers would tip their hats to people on the side, waving in a good-morning salute. As time passed and the morning carried on, the city grew more alive.
Sire left a small coin on the table, watching the boy who had served him pocket it as he walked by. Sire stood from his seat, pushing through the crowd of people who were convinced they needed their morning fix of a warm drink.
Once outside, Sire took a moment to suck in a deep breath, the smell of rain prominent. He continued on shortly after, walking back the way he had come.
Did he have a plan? Know where he was going? No, not really. His only to-do mark on his agenda was, “Wait for Clifford.” But… perhaps he should educate himself beforehand.
With a quick pivot on his heel, Sire banked out of the gateway to the apartments, heading down the street to the local bookstore.
“Oh? Well, if you like them, I’m sure they’re worth stocking.” Mr. Kipling chuckled, putting away the books on the lower shelves for a few more minutes before finishing his preparations to open. Once he had successfully done so, he propped the bookstore’s door open with a piece of wood.
Clifford laughed softly. “You flatter me, sir.” He glanced outside, his face once again a clean slate, careful not to emote too openly. He watched the people go about their business- mothers and their children on their way to school, horse-drawn carriages clopping down the streets, the city’s familiar hustle and bustle.
Only a few people trickled in at first, and an even smaller few actually making purchases. Most simply came in, flipped through a book or two, and then left.
The local bookstore caught Sire’s eye. He crossed the street, glancing from oncoming carriages to past ones, skipping quite lightly across the cobblestone.
Sire had never been the kind of person to really… spend time out in the public eye long enough to browse a bookshop. Still, the thought of being in a cramped store with many people.. not to mention the silence of those stores.. well, the subject made him anxious, to say the least.
He walked through the doorway, clearly putting on blinders as he glanced through the sections. Finally finding the mystery section, he looked up from the bindings, seeing Clifford sorting the books just paces away.
He stood still, and although he felt a slight bit surprised, his face stayed stoic and emotionless.
“Oh— Uh— Hello, sir,” Sire said, his voice light.
Clifford jolted again. He hissed out a nearly silent prayer to any god, shutting his eyes tight for a moment before looking over at Sire. “Good morning. May I help you with anything today?” Classic customer service voice, and it was a little jarring when compared to his regular speaking voice. A learned talent, truly.
He held a few more books in his arms, two or three. They still needed to be sorted out, but if a customer was wanting, then it could wait. He took a step or two closer to Sire so he wouldn’t seem so cold.
Sire cocked his head, squinting for a moment. It was almost as if Clifford hadn’t recognized him. Honestly, Sire wasn’t too surprised. He could either been seen as just a passing face, or be stuck in someone’s mind forever. There wasn’t a strict in-between.
“N-No,” Sire mumbled, stuttering slightly. His face quickly changed back to it’s usual emotionless stone. “Just… looking.”
He paused for a moment, his eyes on the books below.
“Actually,” he muttered, his voice almost a hum. “Any recommendations?”
He figured— if he was already going to go over all four sides of cryptids that evening— maybe something to pass the time wouldn’t be too bad.
A passing look of subtle confusion swept across Clifford’s face while he listened to Sire fish for his words. “..Right. Well, sir-“ Clifford was cut off by Sire’s sudden question, and he hummed a small, inquisitive note.
“Recommendations? Of course, sir. I assume you’re in the market for a mystery novel. The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde tends to be my go-to when asked that question. If we’re including non-mysteries as well, I’d like to suggest The Picture of Dorian Gray, sir.” He drummed his fingers lightly against the books in his arms. “Does that answer your question?”
Sire nodded, keeping his composed demeanor prominent from outside. Though part of him wondered why Clifford acted like they were str—
Huh, Sire though to himself. I guess we are strangers.
For some reason, it hadn’t felt like it. And, if anything, Clifford seemed slightly… hostile. Had Sire done something? Did he say something wrong?
He subtily shook his head. He wasn’t normally like this— overthinking every little detail. But something about Clifford made Sire feel… almost vulnerable. The thought equally and simultaneously piqued his interest and terrified him.
“I’ve read The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but I’m not sure I’ve heard of the latter,” he replied, as if his mind was processing no thought at all. “Where might I find it?”
Truth be told, Clifford didn’t quite realize how aloof he came across. He was playing a role- someone who could deal with customers in a formal manner- and it was simply just not something he could easily switch in and out of. But another part of him still wanted to be incredibly guarded, not just cordial. After all, he only knew this man’s name and that he was interested in cryptids. Nothing else. And it was odd that, no matter how intimidating he looked, there was something strangely magnetic about this man. Sire.
But that wasn’t a topic that Clifford wanted to explore, especially not at work.
“Dorian Gray.. You should be able to find it in or around the horror section, sir.” Clifford shifted his weight from foot to foot. “The author is Oscar Wilde, if that aids you at all.” In his mind, Clifford knew that he should really be finding the book for Sire, not just directing him to it, but he had a fair bit of work to do already.
Sire gave a nod, letting a small smile tug on his face before turning around, beginning to walk to the said section.
“Thank you, sir,” he called over his shoulder. In reality, he had turned to hide his slight smile. He hadn’t known why it came, what it was there for, or how it managed to slip past his incredibly thick-built wall. But it did. And he didn’t like it.
Before letting out another word, Sire flew behind the bookshelves, beginning to search for the author.
What am I doing? he thought to himself. The smile had completely faded. This guy’s a stranger. I just need his help for a little while.
He shook his head as if that would jar his thoughts. Much surprise, it didn’t work.
“Oscar Wilde, Oscar Wilde…” he mumbled unconsciously to himself as his fingers skimmed the binds. He finally spotted it, took it from its stand, and flipped open a few pages. The parchment was worn, much like the cover, but the text was readable and carefully pressed.
And, upon the front, in quite extravagant writing, stood the words, The Picture of Dorian Gray.
(i'm sorry for that small gap! it may happen more, as i find myself needing to take time away from social media, etc- i'm not abandoning this, don't worry, i just need to take a break sometimes!)
Clifford's eye caught Sire's smile, and he quickly reigned in his thoughts before they could get away from him. He quickly turned away, back to his shelf, resuming his task of restocking books. Once he had finished that armful he gathered another, checking up on a few other customers.
"Good morning, Mister Leaby. Did you find what you were looking for?" Clifford inquired, looking at the young man standing in front of him. He was shorter than Clifford was, possibly younger as well, and seemingly trying to decide between the two books in his hands. The other man nodded silently, only looking in Clifford's general direction. "…Right. Don't be afraid to give me any inquiries you may have."
He couldn't seem to stop thinking about Sire's request. He rolled it over in his mind like a ball in the hands. Cryptid hunting. What could he possibly need to do that for? Clifford finished up his task, glancing bak around the store to possibly catch a glimpse of Mr McLinnen.
(Sorry that took so long! And don’t worry about small breaks— I have them too. Sometimes… longer than I mean them to be.)
Sire was planning on just simply buying the book and leaving, not necessarily reading it any time soon. However, as his pale fingers skimmed the bleached parchment pages, he found the black print words engraved in his mind. He stood there, absorbing the comfortable feel of the bookstore, and the carefully worded literature of the book in his hand. It was quite elegantly written, he would say. But, that was low by even Sire’s standards— he hadn’t read much.
Still, he was completely engulfed by the book the second he had opened the first couple pages. It was truly hooking, to say the least. The entire concept, at that. The character interactions between Lord Henry Wotton and Basil Hallward— the young handsome man, Dorian— the book in its entirety. It would be one Sire liked, he could tell already. Although, he couldn’t say he agreed with the hedonistic view of Wotton, or the wishes of Mr. Gray, it was entertaining nonetheless.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, his black hair falling into his bright blue eyes, stroking it aside with a light thin hand. He took calm breaths, feeling more at peace than he had felt in a long, long while. It wasn’t until he caught Clifford’s eye that his heart sped, but he roped it back into submission the second he averted his eyes once more, having them scan over the printed words instead.
(I understand totally! I just remembered to log back on after some stuff took a nosedive, so don’t worry about it!)
Clifford stepped right outside of Sire’s “bubble”, so to speak. He glanced down at the book, then back up at Sire, and then back down at the book. “Mr McLinnen, I’m afraid I can’t have you reading the book before you purchase it. Otherwise I may as well not be running a bookstore.” There was a slight teasing edge to his voice, whether or not he noticed (and he must not have, because Clifford wouldn’t be caught dead speaking to anyone- especially not a man- in this manner).
His arms were free of the stacked books, instead draped behind his back with his hands clasped. Standing this close, even if it wasn’t that close, Clifford caught Sire’s incredibly striking features. Features he hadn’t noticed before: his sparklingly blue eyes, his raven hair. Clifford felt semi-disgusted with himself for even pointing these things out to himself. In his mind, he knew that what he was noticing was.. well, wrong. Clifford forced his gaze back down to the novel in Sire’s hands, fixing his posture to be as professional as he could muster.
Sire looked down at Clifford, the gesture somewhat forced as he pried his eyes from the book. Truth was, he hadn’t thought it through that far. He had simply been caught in the book, willing to buy it whether he read the whole thing or not.
“Oh, my apologies, sir,” he mumbled. His face held little true expression, yet his eyes seemed like a puppy who had just been told “no.” Quickly regaining himself, they turned back to the ice they had previously been. “I just got… hooked. It’s quite the interesting read already.”
Shutting the book with one hand, he slipped the other into his dark coat pocket. Light pooled in from the windows, his cold eyes glinting as he looked over Clifford. He had already been true to himself with his thoughts on this man, so no revisiting of any potential inkling was necessary for the sake of his mind.
He gave a polite smile, letting the arm holding the book rest limp by his side. “I’ll take it, then. How much for it?”
In all truthfulness, having Sire look down on him like that made Clifford feel a little ridiculous. Maybe a little nervous. After all, even in the morning light, even with how beautiful the day was, Sire was threatening. He was taller than Clifford, and just the contrast of his pale skin against his dark hair, he almost looked ghostly.
Clifford nodded, trying to ignore that puppyish look in his eyes. He wasn't that threatening with those eyes, even once they hardened back into ice. That look would've made a stray dog jealous. "It is, isn't it? It's one of my favorite novels." He smiled softly. Clifford looked at the book, then at the shelf it came from, then back up at Sire.
He took a step back. "I can take your money up front, but not here." Clifford looked at Sire expectantly, his head tilted. His expression was unreadable, but it didn't look too negative. Simply slightly cold. Clearly he had fixed that professional, maybe somewhat standoffish facade. He did, however, return Sire's smile. "Two shillings, sir."
Noting the man’s step back, Sire stayed put. Almost ungodly still— a thing he was sometimes too good at it scared people. Part of him wished it didn’t. Part of him wished he didn’t scare people in general. Yet, that was the only thing he knew how to do. But… he got information when he needed it in quite the different way. Not that he was a romancer, but some told him he had a way with those words.
“Of course,” he said, his deep voice holding no rasp at all. He took his other hand out of his pocket, in the palm of it resting the two silver coins. He let the hand rest by his side like the other, standing there like a post and awaiting Clifford to lead him to the front counter.
Sire understood now. Simply professional, he was. The distant demeanor was nothing of Sire’s own effect. Possibly. He couldn’t be too sure, his mind still trying to understand the man in front of him. His own smile faded, beginning to hold up that cool and calm stationary expression once more.
“Shall we?” he asked quietly, his limp hand stroking the frayed binding of the book.
In Clifford's eyes, Sire was ridiculously still. To the point where it unnerved Clifford. And yet. And yet, he wasn't scared. He wasn't sure if the proper word was fascinated, but it was the same type of feeling you got when you were at the zoo and you saw a bear or a lion. You were fully aware that it could, and might, kill you- but all the same, you couldn't help but be drawn in, fascinated by it. Clifford fancied himself rather good at reading people, and he'd be damned if he didn't try with Sire.
"Ah- right, sorry. After me, please." Clifford began to walk in the direction of the clerk's desk, having to pause a few times along to way to (regrettably) postpone helping some of their more elderly regulars. Lots of small apologies. Once they had finally wormed their way up to the cash register, Clifford managed to weave through the large stacks of unsorted books to get behind the desk.
"Alright, sir. My apologies for taking so long to get here. Like I said, two shillings, please." He held out his hand to receive the money.
Sire did as asked, handing over the two cold silver coins. Possibly too cold for being held in a human hand, but the man always ran colder than most.
His hand held steady as he handed the coins, his fingers brushing gently against Clifford’s palm. He was much warmer, Sire had to admit the change in temperature sent a shiver up his arm. He ceased to flinch or show it at all, just slipping his hand back into his pocket.
His other hand kept stroking the binding of the book, a pale finger fiddling with the fray. His eyes wandered to the window on his left, noting the sun’s ascent higher in the sky. The dew had risen from the ground, just the plain dry cobblestone there to reflect the bright day. Few clouds dotted the sky, giving him the impression that either later this evening or tomorrow a larger storm would be on it’s way. But he didn’t mind— at least he had a place to stay now. Unlike before, where he had to take some… interesting actions to stay in an actual building.
Sire blinked his eyes, bringing himself back to the present. He broke his gaze over to meet Clifford, waiting for him to give the affirmation he was okay to keep reading.
Clifford flinched slightly at how cold the shillings were in his hand. He opened the register, dropping the coins in with a few metallic clinks. His own hands were decidedly much more shaky than Sire's.
"Err- sir?" Clifford waved his hand slightly to get Sire's attention. The man looked zoned out. Distant. "Sir, are you alright?" He shut the cash register, stepping out from behind the counter once Sire had looked over. "You.. can read the book now. You've already paid for it."
Clifford looked up at him for a moment, then turned and picked up a few books to put away. After all, the quicker those stacks shrunk are were sorted out, the better.
Sire gave a slight nod.
“My apologies. Just caught in the nice day,” he muttered, more to himself than to Clifford.
He turned, holding the book tightly in his hand and walking to the door just paces away. Did he know where his next destination was? Unlikely.
He paused for a second before looking back to the other man.
“Thank you, sir,” he called back, although his voice seeming stayed the same fluctuation, calm and drifting through the air. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Have a nice morning.”
Without another word, or before another could be spoken, Sire slipped out the door and began his trek down the street. Maybe he’d go back to his newly bought apartment. Or possibly another shop. It would all be where the road would take him, or whichever showed first.
"It's alright, sir." Clifford responded primly. He nodded, stepping away from Sire. He watched him walk off, slightly zoned out, snapped back into reality only by Sire's goodbye. He jumped slightly, his face went slightly pink as he realized he looked like he was staring, and only managed to wave slightly and return the goodbye before ducking his head and getting back to work.
There was a sort of confusion knotted up in the pit of his stomach as he waited to get off of work. On one hand, he was being offered the chance to talk about cryptids on a silver platter. From someone who seemingly wouldn't ridicule him over it either. Hopefully. But on the other hand, this man felt increasingly stranger and stranger. He was freezing, almost scarily still, and his appearances were striking to the point of being odd. Strangely alluring, sure, but odd.
Clifford distracted himself with conversations. He spoke to the customers like normal, got caught up on their lives like he was interested, and whatever else he needed to do. And then, thank god, his colleague was there to take over the shift once the end up his own had finally arrived.
Clifford left the bookstore after saying a fast goodbye to Mr. Kipling, walking briskly out of the cramped store and back to his apartment.
