He looks up when he hears footsteps coming back - for a big man, Martin's lighter on his feet than Arthur expected - and gives him a light smile. "My name's Arthur Lester - I'm terribly sorry to be a bother, but I was actually hoping to speak with Jon."
"Ah." Yeah, that tracks. Martin's momentary flattery at being asked for by name ends there. But there are worse things to be a stepping stone for, worse things to be than a point of contact for Jon. (Who is his favorite person, after all.) Martin spares a glance to the back of the house. "He's here, yeah, he's in the back doing the admin. I'd be happy to get him for you!"
Martin leans a little bit to get a more direct line of fire down the hallway. "Jon!"
[ I'll have Harv bring Jon in next and then give you two the floor :3 ]
No movement comes from the back of the house, no footsteps, nor the appearances of anyone. Instead, at most, there's a scoot of a chair down that short hallway, painting a clear image of someone shifting to lean back, before Martin gets a called-back reply, largely unbothered with just an edge of the distinct sound of 'I'm in the middle of something' to it.
A note is hastily added to the numbers he's running, and at last, Jon emerges from the back, straightening out his jacket. As soon as he gets a look at the counter, it's clear by the way that his face drops from confusion to a flicker of embarrassment that he'd assumed Arthur had been sat at one of the tables, not right there for the entire exchange. Oops.
He clears his throat a bit, shaking that embarrassment as best as he can, and offers a hand to shake.
Martin’s glance askance at Arthur gets a soft chuckle. He's certainly been witness to much more hostile couples in his time.
And based on that entire exchange, he opts for the blunt approach.
"Mr Sims." He steps in to shake Jon’s with a gloved hand of his own.
(How hungry are you, Jon? Because the scarred man with impossible golden eyes is a veritable smorgasbord of Statements, from practically every possible Fear, despite the way he holds himself with that familiar British stiffness that says 'question it at your own peril'.)
"Arthur is fine. I was informed you have a statement by Miss Leeds that I was hoping to take a look at."
There's a brief moment, a fleeting few seconds of tightness of the throat, of tension, all that he will doing his measure best to write off as nothing more than the uncertainty in meeting a new face. In reality, though, at the core of him, there's that itch, a twisting beneath the skin at the recognition of what lies on Arthur's surface, of just how far the depths of what he's seen go.
Insatiable hunger creeps back into his bones. He fights tooth and nail to ignore it, and shove boldly ahead. This man's here for something.
"Ah--- new to the Ocularum, then, I take it?" Jon asks, and he gestures for Arthur to wait while he steps back behind the counter, fishing out a satchel. He guides the two of them to a table not far off from there, talking idly as he shuffles through his bag, pulling out a tape recorder, then a few loose pages tucked into an envelope.
"Or... well. It doesn't matter much if you aren't, considering this has every right to be public knowledge, but I don't know how far word's started to spread. I'd hope not far, but... small towns. Even with curses to contend with, word manages to get around, one way or another."
A fleeting pause, before Jon properly offers any of it over, having gotten all of it collected in his arm. Perhaps he's gotten a bit possessive over that tape recorder in particular, these days - how much of that is his own inclination not to lose one of the only few in this world, and how much of it is the bidding of the Eye, is yet to be seen. He'll use a final confirmation as a good excuse to hang onto it for a moment more.
"I don't suppose you'd mind if I ask why you're looking for it?"
Arthur doesn't miss that tension (and a part of him wonders if John would have), that subtle but distinct uptick in something bothering Sims, and he feels his own resolve tighten like a steel spring in his stomach. Whatever this man thinks he can get from Arthur, it's not fucking happening.
But he tries not to let it show, keeps his voice calm and even as he follows the man to a table and sits.
"I'm not with the Ocularum, no, I'm not actually allied with any of the organizations here currently," he informs evenly, reaching into his own coarse jacket and pulling out a notepad and pencil. "I'm a private investigator. And Gerry believed that my perspective would be helpful in trying to work out- quite literally anything helpful, especially since I've got some familiarity with Nyarlathotep and his ilk in my home universe."
His gaze softens a little; genuine compassion, but a slight ploy regardless. "He already informed me of what happened to Dahlia. But I was hoping to hear it for myself, so that I don't have to press her directly for information she's been forced to talk about already."
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lofi_charm) wrote2024-08-25 09:26 pm
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Martin leans a little bit to get a more direct line of fire down the hallway. "Jon!"
[ I'll have Harv bring Jon in next and then give you two the floor :3 ]
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"What?"
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"Would you please just come out here?"
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A note is hastily added to the numbers he's running, and at last, Jon emerges from the back, straightening out his jacket. As soon as he gets a look at the counter, it's clear by the way that his face drops from confusion to a flicker of embarrassment that he'd assumed Arthur had been sat at one of the tables, not right there for the entire exchange. Oops.
He clears his throat a bit, shaking that embarrassment as best as he can, and offers a hand to shake.
"Hello, ah--- Mr. Lester?"
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And based on that entire exchange, he opts for the blunt approach.
"Mr Sims." He steps in to shake Jon’s with a gloved hand of his own.
(How hungry are you, Jon? Because the scarred man with impossible golden eyes is a veritable smorgasbord of Statements, from practically every possible Fear, despite the way he holds himself with that familiar British stiffness that says 'question it at your own peril'.)
"Arthur is fine. I was informed you have a statement by Miss Leeds that I was hoping to take a look at."
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Insatiable hunger creeps back into his bones. He fights tooth and nail to ignore it, and shove boldly ahead. This man's here for something.
"Ah--- new to the Ocularum, then, I take it?" Jon asks, and he gestures for Arthur to wait while he steps back behind the counter, fishing out a satchel. He guides the two of them to a table not far off from there, talking idly as he shuffles through his bag, pulling out a tape recorder, then a few loose pages tucked into an envelope.
"Or... well. It doesn't matter much if you aren't, considering this has every right to be public knowledge, but I don't know how far word's started to spread. I'd hope not far, but... small towns. Even with curses to contend with, word manages to get around, one way or another."
A fleeting pause, before Jon properly offers any of it over, having gotten all of it collected in his arm. Perhaps he's gotten a bit possessive over that tape recorder in particular, these days - how much of that is his own inclination not to lose one of the only few in this world, and how much of it is the bidding of the Eye, is yet to be seen. He'll use a final confirmation as a good excuse to hang onto it for a moment more.
"I don't suppose you'd mind if I ask why you're looking for it?"
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But he tries not to let it show, keeps his voice calm and even as he follows the man to a table and sits.
"I'm not with the Ocularum, no, I'm not actually allied with any of the organizations here currently," he informs evenly, reaching into his own coarse jacket and pulling out a notepad and pencil. "I'm a private investigator. And Gerry believed that my perspective would be helpful in trying to work out- quite literally anything helpful, especially since I've got some familiarity with Nyarlathotep and his ilk in my home universe."
His gaze softens a little; genuine compassion, but a slight ploy regardless. "He already informed me of what happened to Dahlia. But I was hoping to hear it for myself, so that I don't have to press her directly for information she's been forced to talk about already."