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Post by fagin on Mar 23, 2010 6:56:11 GMT -5
It had only just gone nine o' clock, but it looked as though the sun had failed to rise or at least made a very poor show of it. Grey clouds obscured the sky in a very melancholy fashion, and rain drizzled down onto the street dispiritedly, only adding to the grim mood of the streets that day. In richer parts of the city doubtless the streets would be awash not just with rain but with the colour of pedestrians' umbrellas as they hurried to and fro to get out of it. But no such luck on the street outside Fagin's pawn shop. People here could barely scrape enough together to buy a mac, let alone an umbrella in fancy colours or patterns.
Fagin had to content himself with looking outside at the grey and murky world but soon came to find it all too depressing when compared with his mood; pathetic fallicy at its worst. Last night one of his criminal acquaintances had brought in some very expensive looking loot which would be much more interesting to examine than the rainclouds.
With a quick glance to ensure no-one was heading in his direction from outside, Fagin hurried to the back room to sort out his latest treasures. Rubbing his gloved hands together in a matter not unlike a comic villian, he pulled out the sack of goods from the cupboard where he'd stashed them and began to sort them through.
After an hour or so he'd sorted it all into piles; things to be sold, things to keep for himself and lie about having sold off and things to put in the nearby thrift store. Hey, he wasn't all bad.
This task accomplished Fagin returned to the front room to man the desk. He doubted, however, that there would be many customers, yet he still kept the old place open for business.
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JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU
High Class
The Island of
Dr. Moreau &&
The Story of
Dr. Doolittle
"A Peculiar Gentleman"
Posts: 60
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Post by JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU on Mar 23, 2010 15:10:22 GMT -5
Doolittle was out for one of his daily/ bi-daily walks when, as it usually does luck both frowned and smiled upon him. Unfortunately his pocket watch got swiped without his notice, but fortunately a couple of pigeons had seen the whole thing.
<You See That?>
The second pigeon made an affirmative noise. <Shiny circle Like Molting Feather.> Instantly John reached into his pocket to find it empty. He turned to the pigeons, now glad of the usually annoying fact that pigeons are incurable gossips. <Excuse me, Where Shiny Circle Fly?>
<North/Northwest On Wings Small Man> From the pigeons comments Doolittle had deduced that his pocket watch had been swiped by a diminutive human probably an adolescent. John turned to Polynesia,who was perched on his shoulder.
"Polynesia. Please fly ahead and inquire about a small human. I'll follow on foot."
Polynesia silently obliged flying ahead and cooing every so often.
*************
Soon they came to a run down pawn shop and Polynesia returned to John's shoulder, as he stepped inside. John walked up to a man sitting at a desk near the back, supposedly the owner.
"Excuse me sir, but I have reason to believe that you're in possession of a pocket watch that belongs to me. It was probably pawned by a short man or an adolescent. It is gold plated, with several scratches in the cover and JM engraved on the inside. I doubt you'll get much for it, but is of incalculable sentimental value to me." Not to mention that with his very precise and punctual nature, that pocket watch essentially ruled his life.
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Post by fagin on Mar 24, 2010 8:00:03 GMT -5
Fagin looked up as the pair entered the shop, his eyes widening a little as he noticed a parrot perched on the man's shoulder. He gave himself a moment to mull over their sudden appearance and the query the man had posed before speaking.
"A pocketwatch, you say?" Fagin said with a small nod to the man before ducking down behind the desk to find the thing. "Ah...yes, yes, as it so happens I did recentley acquire such an item...only a few minutes ago..."
He extracted the pocketwatch from the small and dusty cupboard underneath his desk, wiping off the dust that had already managed to accumulate there with his free hand.
"Here we are sir...the lad only wanted ten dollars for it..."
He didn't hand it to the stranger though. Not yet. The situation was unusual, curious, and Fagin couldn't help wanting to find out more about it. It had been many years since the pawnbroker had seen a pocketwatch.
"If you don't mind me asking sir...what is your name...and how did you happen to come by this particular item?"
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JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU
High Class
The Island of
Dr. Moreau &&
The Story of
Dr. Doolittle
"A Peculiar Gentleman"
Posts: 60
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Post by JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU on Mar 24, 2010 15:43:29 GMT -5
"Yes that would be it." Doolittle was incredibly relieved. There was always a chance that the trail had gotten cold. Especially since pigeons were really stupid birds.
"My legal name is John Moreau, but I prefer to be called John Doolittle, or Dr. Doolittle if you prefer."
Polynesia shuffled on his shoulder, looking around the store. She spoke up after John's introduction. "This is a pretty interesting shop you have here, mind if I browse around while you and the Doctor have a chat?" Polynesia waited for the man to answer.
"As to how I got it. Well my parents had it made for be and gave it to me the day I left for Oxford. They said I would need a watch to help me keep track of my busy schedule, and asserted that a pocket watch was more proper than a wristwatch and more durable than a digital watch. All rather simple really." He paused examining his watch, his eyes reflecting the memories flooding through his head. "Of course when they gave it to me it was brand new. How the marks got onto the case, that's another story altogether. A rather grim, horrible story..."
Doolittle trailed off, waiting to see if the shopkeeper would ask him to tall that particular tale.
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Post by fagin on Mar 25, 2010 3:34:50 GMT -5
"Hmmm..." said Fagin with a smile, turning the watch over in his grubby hands. "Fascinating, absolutley fascinating my dear-"
He cut himself off as the parrot spoke, his eyes widening all the more. Since when could animals speak? He was ashamed to admit he'd made a grab at the desk to prevent himself from falling in shock.
"C-Certainly...m-my dear..." he stammered, distracted from what Doolittle was saying by the incredible bird's words. "F-feel free..."
Fagin returned his attention to Doolittle, shaking his head a little as if to clear it of his thoroughly confused thoughts. He made as if to hand the watch back to him but paused at the last second and kept his grip on it.
"I don't mean to pry sir, but, would you mind telling me just how the watch came to be damaged? Then I'll give it back to you, eh?"
He chuckled a little at the notion that, if the man refused, he might just keep it. He reconsidered almost immediatley; sometimes it was hard for him to keep his legal and criminal identities apart. He was a relativley nice man during the day.
He tentativley held the watch out again, with a small apologetic smile.
"Sorry about that my dear...here you are. But I would still be interested to hear that story of yours..."
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Post by ÉPONINE THÉNARDIER on Mar 27, 2010 11:49:10 GMT -5
It was raining again. Go figure. Why did it always seem to be raining in the Bronx? Éponine wondered why she even bothered to come here. She'd been looking for her sister, but it seemed that Azelma had moved on. She had said to Éponine before that she preferred Brooklyn to the Bronx, and Éponine didn't blame her one bit. The Bronx was just icky. If it weren't for all the graffiti space, Éponine wouldn't spend any time there at all. She'd recently acquired a new can of paint, though, and she had enjoyed marking up some walls. It was a good way to relieve stress. Of course, it was very difficult to paint when it was raining. It became runny and smeared and no good at all. So now Éponine was stranded in the Bronx with nothing to do and getting wet - again. She hated getting wet. Soon enough she would just hate water altogether. Thank goodness she at least had a hat to protect her ears and keep her from getting sick. Her mum had died from pneumonia, and Éponine had no plans on following the same path.
Éponine headed down a street, trying to find a place to get out of the rain. She splashed through a puddle and stopped to mope about it. She shook her foot out and looked around. Oh! She knew where she was. This was the street Fagin's shop was on. He would let her in out of the rain. She headed in the direction of the shop and noticed a small boy running out of the shop. Éponine's jaw dropped momentarily when she recognized the boy. It was a miracle she did recognize him, considering it had been over a year since she'd seen him. "Gavroche! What ze hell are ya doing?" she demanded. Sentimentality was lost on Éponine. Just because she was seeing her brother for the first time in a long time didn't make her want to cozy up to him. He was just a brat like her. The bond between brother and sister wasn't as strong as the bond between sister and sister.
"Ay! S' Éponine!" Gavroche exclaimed, seeming a bit more cheerful than Éponine by far. She soon found out why when Gavroche showed off his ten-dollar bill and strutted like a cock. Éponine was seized with jealousy. Ten bucks could buy a lot of food! Not good food, but still food! He could probably get a can of vegetables for just a tenth of that. Éponine moped before she got suspicious. "'Ey! What'd ya sell off?" she demanded. He had to be in Fagin's shop for a reason, especially because he hadn't been around enough to know Fagin the way Éponine did. He'd been selling something, and probably something he'd stolen. It was a bit hypocritical of Éponine to judge someone for stealing when she did it all the time herself, but she didn't like the sound of her little brother doing it, even if she wasn't nearly as fond of him as she'd been when they'd been living in France.
"I can't tell ya, sis! Robber's oath!" Gavroche teased. Éponine didn't believe him. There was no such thing as a Robber's Oath. She would have known about it. She decided that it didn't matter enough to pursue it. She just wanted Gavroche to get out of her hair. "Ya are making that up!" Éponine accused, sticking her tongue out immaturely. "Now get outta 'ere!" Gavroche cackled and ran off, clutching his money tightly. Éponine watched him go, taking cover under a ratty awning for a minute or two, still shaking water out of her shoes. Her eyes widened when she saw another man enter Fagin's shop. He sure was busy today. What was the deal? He was always complaining about how slow the shop was whenever Éponine saw him. Frowning, Éponine let some time pass so that she didn't seem suspicious before following the man into Fagin's shop.
Rather unceremoniously, Éponine sputtered and wiped the water from her face as she stood in the doorway. She wrung out her dark tresses and shook rain off her cap. She marched in and rudely sat herself upon Fagin's counter, drizzling a bit of water there. "'Ey zere, Uncle Fagin. Ya look busy today!" she said with a cheesy grin. Fagin was far from her uncle, but he'd run with her dad's crew for a while and he'd been the only one to escape going to jail with him, since he was smart enough not get mixed up in the stupid crimes. Her eye landed on the gentlemen Fagin was dealing with. "Well, ain't ya fancy? Is zat a perroquet?" Éponine asked, noticing the colorful bird. She didn't know the English word for parrot, so she relied on her French. She figured the man, a Clinker by the looks of it, would figure it out. She noticed the watch and smirked. So Gavroche had ripped this guy off and sold the watch for ten bucks. That just showed how dumb he was. That thing was worth a lot more. Éponine would have made Fagin give her more for it. Ah, the knowledge of experience. She decided not to say anything while the customer was here. She might not like Gavroche, but she didn't want him arrested. [/blockquote] |
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Post by fagin on Mar 27, 2010 21:17:28 GMT -5
Fagin was distracted from Doolittle as Éponine entered, bringing with her an awful lot of water. His brow furrowed as she pranced over to his desk and decided it would be the best place to make herself comfortable, said frown intensifying as a puddle of water began to form on the surface of the desk.
With a small smile to Doolittle as if to excuse himself he turned his attention to the young woman, his unhappy expression returning.
"As a matter of fact, my dear, I am," he said. "And as such I would appreciate if you would get off my desk."
He turned back to Doolittle with a small chuckle. He wasn't a fan of the name Éponine had coined for him, but he decided to use it to his advantage for once, to prevent what might become a potentially awkward situation, considering the thieving Éponine did in broad daylight and his own criminal connections. For all outward appearances, especially when dealing with customers, he was just a normal older man; /not/ a thief or criminal of any kind.
Particullarly evidently upper class customers like this man.
"My niece," he explained to Doolittle, with a wry smile. He only hoped Éponine would have enough sense to go along with his story.
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JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU
High Class
The Island of
Dr. Moreau &&
The Story of
Dr. Doolittle
"A Peculiar Gentleman"
Posts: 60
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Post by JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU on Mar 27, 2010 23:50:10 GMT -5
Polynesia looked up from her browsing. "Well, sweetheart I'm not a feather duster, am I?" Doolittle heard the shop keep's explanation. "Funny you don't really look like her Mr... Fagin? Is it?"
He turned to the girl. Since most animal languages involve bodily clues as to meaning, Doolittle had extremely exercised powers of observation. At first he thought that she shouldn't be around for his tale. But through subtle clues in her posture and facial expressions he could tell that she had lived a hard life. " Now I was about to tell Mr. Fagin a story in exchange for helping me regain my pocket watch. But the thing is it might be a bit frightening for a lady. It may very well be something you won't want to hear. So before I tell him I'm going ask you whether or not you want to hear it before I tell Mr. Fagin." In reality he was kind of relieved that she had shown up when she did. It was a part of his lif that he preferred not to relive.
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Post by ÉPONINE THÉNARDIER on Mar 29, 2010 18:59:09 GMT -5
Éponine and Fagin had an interesting relationship. She couldn't say she actually liked him all that much, but he was the closest thing to family she had at the moment, aside from Azelma. He kind of looked after her if she ever needed it. Éponine wasn't the kind of person who usually admitted that she needed help, but she would bunk in the back of Fagin's shop and accept food from him once in a while. Éponine thought that Zel took advantage of his hospitality sometimes, too, but she wasn't entirely sure. She was almost certain that Fagin didn't know Gavroche, since the kid had run off before their dad had become acquainted with Fagin. Maybe Éponine would mention her relation to the boy who'd brought in the watch to Fagin later, since it was a tasty bit of irony. She'd have to make up her mind later about that, though. There were some things that Éponine liked to keep secret. Her relationship to Gavroche might actually come in handy in the future, but not if she blabbed to everyone that he was her brother.
Éponine was a bit rough around the edges, so she tended to be very picky about her relationships. She had connections with people that she protected, but she didn't like getting emotionally attached to people. Honestly, she thought Azelma was the only person that she'd ever felt connected to, apart from her mother. Éponine knew a lot of people, but they weren't necessarily good people. She'd gotten acquainted with certain shady individuals when she was used as a middleman for her father's various deeds, and some of those people would still recognize her today. She'd severed ties where necessary, like the gang of thugs that were only a little older than her who had tried to violate her two years ago. That was why she avoided Kings like the plague. Still, even though she didn't get emotionally connected to people, she valued the power of knowing people. If she needed a fake ID, she knew where to get one. If she needed a place to crash, she knew a couple of people, including Fagin, who might let her stay a night or two. It was a big part of living on the streets. Every person had something that someone else wanted; knowing the right people could be the key to survival.
She wasn't sure she considered Fagin one of the "right people," but she sure appreciated his protectiveness sometimes. He wasn't necessarily intimidating, but if people knew that Éponine had someone looking out for her, they'd be less likely to try and mess with her. Most of the goons didn't like stirring up trouble where they thought it might be noticed. Before Éponine had integrated herself into the clockwork of New York City, she would have been fair game because no one besides her parents and Zel would notice if something happened to her. Law enforcement didn't really care much about a couple of French immigrants who lived under the bridges. Now Éponine had a few other people, some who were influential in this underworld of theirs, who would notice if she was gone. It was a good way of protecting oneself from the rougher side of street walking.
Éponine smirked at Fagin's tart response to her arrival. Slapping the desk in amusement, she promptly hopped off. She didn't want to get Fagin too upset, or he might kick her out into the rain. "Sure zing, mon oncle!" she said, catching on to Fagin's deliberate statement about Éponine being his niece and winking at him. She wasn't offended, but she was slightly curious. Why would he insist that this ratty thing was his niece? Perhaps it looked better in front of a customer. Éponine couldn't pretend to know how Fagin's mind worked. Those questions could wait until later, once the Clinker left.
Éponine heard another voice, and she looked around to where the answer to her question had come from. Realizing that it came from the bird, Éponine clapped her hands in delight just like a little girl. "Now zat's a trick! My apologies, I ain't never seen a perroquet before!" she exclaimed, directing her words to the bird. It was true. After all the time she'd spent in New York, she still hadn't managed to sneak into a zoo. Zoos tended to be too full of Clinkers, and she didn't want to be another exhibit when they stared at her as if she were another creature instead of a human being. Plus, it was tough to sneak into places. The circumstances needed to be just right.
She looked at the owner of the parrot when he spoke and she had to hold in a snort when he made a statement about the lack of resemblance between Fagin and herself. "Yeah, I got all ze good looks," Éponine said sarcastically, flipping a lock of wet hair over her shoulder in a mockery of how she saw some Clinker girls behave. "Nina Fagin, at your service." She stuck out her hand to shake his, but she wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to shake her dirt-caked hand. She hadn't actually had access to soap in a while. Thankfully, the rain had given her a decent shower and she didn't smell too badly at the moment. Nina Fagin was only one of the various aliases that Éponine created for herself. She'd only come up with that one on the spot just now, but Nina was usually her first name of choice, just because it wasn't too far off from her original name.
She grinned lopsidedly when the Clinker - er, customer - asked if she was sure she wanted to hear the story. She was a bit like Peter Pan in the fact that she actually loved stories. Her mother had used to tell her and Zel stories before she'd gotten too sick and life had gotten too rough. She could handle a scary story, though. It might actually make her day. Instead of sitting on the desk, Éponine opted for just leaning on it when she replied to the customer. "Nah, I zink I can 'andle a scary story. Besides, now I'm intrigued. I couldn't just walk away!" She checked over her shoulder at Fagin to make sure he was okay with it. He might just want her to scram and stay out of the way. She liked annoying him, but not if it meant he might not be as nice to her later. She had to play her cards right. [/blockquote] |
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Post by fagin on Mar 30, 2010 5:22:53 GMT -5
Fagin couldn't help but feel relieved as Éponine took the bait, not only reffering to him as her uncle but hopping off the desk as well. He pulled out his rather grubby handkerchief and mopped up the offending puddle of water before returning his attention to the conversation at hand.
As Éponine mentioned that she got all the good looks, the comment coupled with her sarcasm meant it was hard for Fagin to hold back his laughter; even more so when she mentioned her alais. He was certain he'd heard her use it before but couldn't quite recall it...no matter whether he'd heard it or not, it always caught him a little off guard. Luckily he managed to disguise his chuckle as a cough behind his handkerchief.
"She's right," Fagin informed Doolittle, with a nod in Éponine's direction to confirm that her hearing the story was alright. She'd probably have heard, seen or been a part of worse than any story a posh bloke like this could tell...or so Fagin assumed at any rate. "A scary story won't faze her, I have no doubt."
As Éponine leaned up against the desk he decided not to comment; she was playing her part well and he had no reason to chide her, therefore. Besides, he too was now more intruiged than ever to hear the Doctor's tale. He and Éponine could always talk later but Fagin assumed a man such as Doctor Doolittle wouldn't have all day to spend in the pawnshop, regaling them with stories of his life.
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JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU
High Class
The Island of
Dr. Moreau &&
The Story of
Dr. Doolittle
"A Peculiar Gentleman"
Posts: 60
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Post by JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU on Mar 31, 2010 1:26:51 GMT -5
"I suppose so." Doolittle looked over his watch. " I also suppose that you won't believe a lot of it. I mean New York is so far from the island. And it was a few years ago, though the events still haunt me in my nightmares.
It started in my last days at Oxford. I had got my mind set on accelerating evolution. I had started rather harsh experiments, and once word got out, so did I. After I was sent away from Oxford I had moved to a property my family owned in the South Seas.
That's when I began my experiments in earnest. I began importing animals to the property. I enhanced their intellect through electrical and chemical means. I also vivisected them so that they could walk and talk like humans.
It was a rocky start. But I managed to place strict rules that ingrained human behavior, or so I thought.
The downfall began with a castaway. Soon my test subjects started reverting back to their animal tendencies. Though they became more psychotic than they usually would since they retained their intelligence and also since I operated on them minus anesthesia.
The scars on the watch are from a close encounter I had with a couple of my "creations" a cougar and Hyena-swine. Luckily I managed to escape in a derelict boat, and bandage myself before I passed out."
Doolittle pulled back one of his sleeves, revealing the scars that ran up and down his arm, form the teeth and claws of his creations. Though he seemed calm and collected on the outside, deep down he was sweating bullets, reliving that awful night. To distract his mind from his recollections he turned to Polynesia.
"Actually Polynesia is an the result of a milder form of the treatment. After that incident I had sworn to never take part in experiments as drastic as the ones I performed on the island. Lately I've taken on linguistics, with Polynesia's help of course."
Now that he had regained his pocket watch, and had told Fagin his tale he started browsing around the shop. If he spotted anything that caught his eye, he would gladly pay for it. He owed it to Fagin.
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Post by fagin on Mar 31, 2010 8:59:22 GMT -5
Fagin had been listening intently, riveted, as Doolittle told his tale, gasping and exclaiming at appropriate points, even shrinking back a little with a wince as the Doctor revealed his wounds.
"Well..." he said, drumming his fingers on the counter-top. "You certainly know how to tell a story, my dear...and what a tale it was too. I'm sorry your hard work went so awry..."
As Doolittle moved away to inspect the shop, Fagin turned back to Éponine and gave a low whistle of admiration.
"Call me selfish, my dear," he said in an undertone. "But I never would have thought a posh 'un like that would have gone through so much."
Fagin couldn't say he was happy for Doolittle's predicament; not at all! He truly felt quite sorry for the man, considering how his dreams had gone so wrong and how he still seemed haunted by them. It wasn't just the low-lives, he realized, that had their share of strife and trouble...the rich did too, but they did a better job of hiding it.
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Post by ÉPONINE THÉNARDIER on Mar 31, 2010 19:44:02 GMT -5
Éponine listened along with Fagin as the Clinker told his scary story, but unfortunately, she understood very little of it. Éponine had attended a private school in France until she was nine, and she'd gotten elementary science education in addition to basic math and writing skills. However, after her father's inn had failed, he had moved the whole family to New York City, and money had been so short that Claude hadn't been able to afford to keep a roof over their heads, never mind send his daughters to school. So beyond the basics in science, Éponine knew nothing, so most of what the doctor told her was gibberish. It didn't help that her English was skeletal at best, so certain phrases that she might have understood in French did not ring a bell in English. This dampened Éponine's mood a little bit. She hated feeling stupid.
Thankfully, at the tail end of the customer's story, Éponine could understand the bare language of hardship. It didn't take a lot of guesswork for her to figure out that he'd been attacked by something, especially once he revealed the scars on his arm. Éponine drew back a little bit when she saw them, because she had scars on her skin as well. They weren't of quite the same kind, but scars were scars, no matter what kind they were. Éponine's scar stretched from above her right breast to her left collarbone, a ragged, ugly thing that she tried to keep covered up whenever possible. She'd come upon it when a crew of young hooligans her father had foolishly trusted to get a job done had not met their end of the deal. Claude had sent Éponine to straighten out the mess. They'd been drunk and high when she had arrived and had attempted to violate her. When she had struggled and resisted, they'd given her that scar in a misguided attempt to weaken her. It had bled a lot, but Éponine had made it home on time for her mom to patch her up sufficiently.
No one but her parents and her sisters really knew about the scar, because Éponine kept it hidden as much as possible. She doubted even Fagin knew about it. She didn't want to have to explain to people how she'd gotten it whenever they asked. It was a memory that she didn't personally like reliving and she didn't like it when other people that were not involved tried to relive it with her. In fact, thinking about it brought her to such a state of rage that she often lost control of herself. She was lucky this time that Fagin was around, because if he weren't there she would probably lose it. She settled instead for gripping the edge of the desk unreasonably tightly. She didn't think Fagin or the customer noticed. She subtly took a few deep breaths to calm herself down a bit. Having had a certain amount of bad experiences herself, Éponine couldn't help but wonder why the man would want to share his hardships with a couple of ne'er-do-wells like Fagin and herself. She didn't personally like broadcasting her troubles, so it seemed unusual that this man would, unless, of course, he was lying. If it weren't for the talking bird, Éponine would quickly believe that this was the case.
She leaned back a little to listen to Fagin, keeping her gaze on the man and his bird. She smirked slightly at his words. "Yeah, really. Don't see zat very often." Éponine subconsciously rubbed her chest along where her own scar stretched. Feeling a strange connection with the fancy man, Éponine pushed herself up off of the counter and strolled casually over to where the man was browsing. "So, see anyzing ya like?" Éponine asked quietly and not obnoxiously. "I'm sure some a zese zings might 'ave some scary stories to go wiz zem, too, yeah?" She motioned generally to the objects lined on the counters. She wasn't sure she was actually trying to make a sales pitch for Fagin so much as pursuing further conversation with the gentleman, but either way she was being loud and irritating for a change. [/blockquote] |
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JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU
High Class
The Island of
Dr. Moreau &&
The Story of
Dr. Doolittle
"A Peculiar Gentleman"
Posts: 60
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Post by JOHN "DOOLITTLE" MOREAU on Apr 2, 2010 13:21:10 GMT -5
Doolittle walked around the shop. "No not really. Some of the pieces of furniture kind of catch my fancy, but they're too big for me to carry back to my home." Then his he spotted where Polynesia was. She was sitting in what was either a small potted tree or a very good imitation.
Doolittle turned to Fagin. "Polynesia seems to enjoy that tree, and it looks small enough to carry. How much do you want for it?"
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Post by fagin on Apr 3, 2010 1:55:02 GMT -5
Fagin, who had returned his attention to cleaning up his desk as Éponine went to talk to Doolittle, was started out of her reverie by the man's voice.
"Wh-what?" he stammered, before cottoning on. "Ah, yes, my dear...the tree..."
He tugged open a desk drawer and pulled out a very small very battered looking calcuator, patched clumisly together in several places with sticky tape. After a moment or two Fagin managed to turn the device on and punch in a few numbers, seemingly more for his own purpose than Doolittle's.
This task completed he pulled a small notebook from the same drawer, equally wobegone and tattered in appearance if not more so. He flicked to a certain page, nodded, and returned his attention to Doolittle.
"Well...for that tree..." he said, his eyes flicking back to the book before returning to Doolittle's face. "If I may be so bold as to ask for twenty dollars? Does that suit you, my dear?"
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