It's All a Matter of Taste |Fagin & Jane FINISHED

[JANE EYRE]

Jane was uneasy as she walked the streets of the Bronx. Sure, it looked a lot like her own neighborhood in Brooklyn but since it was unfamiliar territory, Jane couldn't help but feel like a walking target. A small, slip of a woman would be an easy victim for any muggers or gangsters looking for a thrill. Jane hugged her leather portfolio (the only thing of value she owned) closer to her chest and walked faster. Hopefully, she'd make it to the shop in one piece. Since nobody was paying any attention to her, Jane doubted that she would get hurt. But a woman couldn't help but worry.

She should be home right then. But Jane couldn't just paint and teach any more; her landlord had raised the rent. With $750 due every month instead of $673, her measly teaching job wouldn't be enough. Jane had barely scrapped by with maybe ten dollars to spend at her leisure, and now she was in the hole.

Jane couldn't remember where she heard about the little shop in the Bronx that bought and sold odd items. One of her fellow teachers had probably mentioned it some time, but it didn't matter. It seemed like an answer to her money problems. Jane figured she could sell some of her work to the proprietor of the shop. And if he, or she, wasn't interested, Jane figured she could probably get him, or her, to buy something out of pity. Being so small and skinny, Jane could probably pass herself off as starving and get some sympathy.

She hoped.

Jane reached into her pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper that had the address of the store on it. Eying the paper and then a store front, she was pleased to learn that she was close.

It was only a couple more minutes before the store's door was in her view. Taking a moment outside the door to catch her breath and fix herself, Jane paused to give herself a small pep talk. She could do this. If they weren't interested, that was okay, but if they were that was even better. With a deep breath, Jane opened the door quietly and slipped inside.

[fagin]

For about the thousandth time, business was bad at Fagin's shop. And not just the 'reputable' side of it, either. Recently fewer and fewer goods had been coming in from his criminal associates. Fagin was at a loss as to why this was but the reasons didn't matter so much as the fact that the lack of goods meant less money for him.

Meanwhile the 'good' side of the coin hadn't been doing so well either. People were paying up or reclaiming their stuff with alarming frequency...there were a few shelves completely devoid of items, imagine!

As such, Fagin was anxious for some new stock...either that or some miracle in the form of a big wad of cash magically appearing in his wallet overnight. Since the latter was unlikely he was instead busy pacing the shop, straightening lopsided pictures, stacking books and CDs in a more orderly fashion...spring cleaning one might have called it, despite the fact summer was drawing on.

It was as Fagin was engaged in these pursuits that the door to the shop opened; he was so surprised (and relieved) at this that he dropped the large and rather grubby handkerchief he'd been wielding at an empty counter top and turned sharply on his heel to face his visitor.

She certainly wasn't the sort of person he normally saw in the shop, nor the sort of person he'd been expecting. The woman was small and rather frail looking, as if she would snap or break at the slightest touch. She was carrying a leather folder of some kind close to her person; Fagin automatically assumed this folder was something of worth that she needed money for...why else would she be there?

He decided, however, not to go with his assumption and instead just ask if he could help. Jumping to conclusions was never the brightest of ideas.

"Hello there, my dear," he said with a grin, stooping to pick up the handkerchief and replace it in his coat pocket before taking a couple of steps towards her. "And what might I be able to do for you, eh?"

[JANE EYRE]

Jane breathed a sigh of relief once she was in the shop and off the street. The stress of wondering around in the Bronx was not good. She saw that she more or less startled the man inside, a nervous looking fellow, and she felt bad for suprising him like that. The feeling guilt disappeared though when he turned around with a smile and asked how he could help her.

"Hello. Um, I heard that this is where I should go if I wanted to sell something," Jane felt awkward. She had never been very good at introductions, especially the business kind. The man seemed kind enough, but Jane felt uneasy anyway. It probably the half-empty shelves around her that made her feel that way.

The shop had an odd, broken feeling to it and Jane didn't like it. She had been surrounded by broken things and broken people her whole life, so she should be used to it, but something about it still made her catch her breath.

"You see, I'm a painter and I've been looking to sell some of my art. Running out of room and all that," Jane tried to give him a polite smile. "I even brought a few to show you, in case you were interested," Jane moved the folder slightly to indicate that the paintings were in it.

[fagin]

"Hello. Um, I heard that this is where I should go if I wanted to sell something,"

Fagin's smile grew, if possible, even broader at the young woman's words, and a small laugh passed his lips. Why yes, this certainly was the place to go.

He voiced this opinion to the young woman, smile still in place, before continuing to listen as she explained her purpose in coming there. He nodded at her offer to show him some of her artwork, very pleased with this sudden stroke of luck.

"Fear not, my dear, I am interested...very much so. I'm very glad to see you, my dear, very." It seemed as though Fagin's smile would never leave his face; he was so pleased to have someone in the shop...someone who would sell him things, no less!

"Before we proceed any further with this particular transaction, my dear...I think it'd be best if we got the formal introductions done an' dusted."

With that he extended a hand from his visitor to shake, a slightly grubby hand in a tattered black fingerless glove despite the summer weather. "Mister Ira Fagin, at your service, my dear. And you are?"

[JANE EYRE]

Jane smiled happily when the man said he was interested. That was such good news. Jane sat the portfolio down on the nearest flat surface and took the newly introduced Mr. Fagin's hand. "I'm Jane Eyre sir," She didn't mind that his hand wasn't the cleanest or that the palm of his glove was a little damp. She found someone who may be interested in her work. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that you are interested,"

Jane moved to her portfolio and brought it closer so both of them could look at it. "I only brought a few paintings, just so you can see. None of them are framed or anything, I can't really afford that," Jane shrugged. She opened it a little, giving Mr. Fagin a glimpse of a watercolor she did. "Do you want me to show them to you here?"

Even though he had proclaimed interest, Jane couldn't help but feel a little nervous. She was the first to admit that her work was a bit odd. Mostly because it preyed upon Biblical images and notions and was presented in a modern form. They were always odd, and Jane didn't know if he would actually want to buy any of them.

[fagin]

"I'm Jane Eyre sir,"

Fagin smiled and nodded as Jane introduced herself. That was a very nice name she had, very nice indeed. After she had shook his hand he relinquished his slightly clammy grip and refocused his attention on her portfolio.

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear that you are interested,"

"And you have no idea how glad I am to have someone in here!" Fagin quipped back, with a short bark of laughter. "I tell you, my dear, this place is dead slow at the best of times."

Jane then proceeded to explain that she had only brought a few paintings, and that they weren't framed as she couldn't afford the luxury of doing so. Fagin waved a dismissive hand as if to indicate that this didn't matter to him, and indeed it didn't. He was just glad he would have some more stock.

It was at this point that Fagin caught a glimpse of one of Jane's paintings; a watercolour if he wasn't mistaken. From what little he could see, it looked very good. Then again, Mister Fagin Esquire was by no means an expert in art.

"Do you want me to show them to you here?"

"If you would be so kind, Miss Eyre," Fagin said with a small smile and a nod, indicating his eagerness to see her work.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane laughed with Mr. Fagin and nodded. "Alright," Jane opened the portfolio and pulled out the watercolor. It was a painting of two boys playing in the street, but with odd choices for toys. One was playing with a hammer, the other playing with a broken beer bottle. When she was painting it, Jane had a strong image of society in her neighborhood and the painting was intended to be commentary on the youth growing up too fast.

"Here's a watercolor," Jane said and proceeded to explain the purpose of it. She tried to make it sound like her thought process was sound when in reality, all that she said occurred after the painting was done. The purpose of the painting had been revealed in the process though the basic message had been there in the beginning.

"This one, is an oil. It's a tad more macabre than the watercolor," Jane pulled out the next picture. It was of a crow, perched on a church steeple. It had a broken rosary in its beak and a at the bottom of the painting, two bloody, broken looking hands were reaching for the rosary. This one she had painted on a whim and had no idea really what it meant.

[fagin]

As Jane extracted the first painting from her portfolio, Fagin was certain his eyes had widened in surprise. The painting was not only brilliant, but it was certainly not the sort of thing he would have expected a young woman like her to paint. Today's lesson: Never judge based on outward appearance.

Miss Eyre's explanation of the piece caused a wry smile to appear on Fagin's face; children these days were growing up too fast, he had to agree. He had, as a matter of fact, what with practically running the shop after the death's of his mother and Ezra. Not that he was about to let Jane know this of course; not only was that not what they were here to discuss, but Fagin was certain she wouldn't want to hear his family history.

"This is brilliant work, Miss Eyre, very brilliant indeed...Not that I pretend to be an expert in art you understand. But I think I know a good thing when I see it, having been in this business for so long."

An oil painting was the next the young woman chose to show the proprietor. She was right, it was a lot more macabre. However, Fagin was certain it would sell well; it was a powerful piece, striking and sure to catch the eye. He gave a low whistle of admiration as he studied it, tapping one gloved finger against his chin as if in thought (although no thought was needed as to whether or not he would sell the paintings; he most certainly would).

"I think it's a smidge more than a tad, my dear, but let's not split hairs. What you have here is, as I say, brilliant. I would be delighted to purchase these paintings...and others if you have 'em. Although I have to say it must be hard for you to part with them...they must have taken a lot of hard work and dedication..."


(ooc: I'd buy those paintings; they sound brilliant and I love the idea behind the first one! Great job!)

[JANE EYRE]

This is brilliant work, Miss Eyre, very brilliant indeed

Jane blushed at the use of brilliant in relation to her work. She thought that they were passable, but certainly not brilliant. "Oh thank you," Jane smiled. He wanted to buy her paintings and then some. Mr. Fagin was an answer to all of Jane's troubles and she was glad that she had made the nerve-wracking voyage to the Bronx. "I have many paintings, and I'm always painting so I have new pieces every week or so,"

Jane just couldn't believe her luck.

She had many paintings at home that she couldn't carry to the shop since they were on canvas that was taller than she was. Some were so tiny they could be carried in a wallet. A few pieces were on odd items like slabs of wood or concrete. Jane didn't know if he would be interested in those, but there were others along the same size as the ones she's shown him. Perhaps those would be better.

[fagin]

"Oh thank you,"

Fagin chuckled. "It's really me who should be thanking you, Miss Eyre. Business hasn't been too good as of late. I guess we're both helping each other out eh?"

"I have many paintings, and I'm always painting so I have new pieces every week or so,"

"Ah, I see," Fagin replied, with a small nod. "Very impressive, very impressive. Now. Let's say I wanted to purchase this painting here," he indicated the watercolour of the children playing "How much would you want for it?"

[JANE EYRE]

When asked how much she wanted for the pictures, Jane floundered. She hadn't considered price. Jane had thought that she would be offered a price and then she would okay it, or not. Jane looked down at her painting a bit helplessly.

How much would it be worth?

Jane felt so embarrassed that she hadn't considered that part of the transaction. "I'm not sure. This is the first time I've sold any of my work. How much do you think it's worth?" Jane knew that she was, more or less, opening herself up to being cheated out of some money.

But, in her usual naive way, Jane trusted Mr. Fagin. Even though she knew that in New York, trusting a stranger was extremely dangerous.

[fagin]

"I'm not sure. This is the first time I've sold any of my work. How much do you think it's worth?"

It appeared that Miss Eyre hadn't considered this part of the proceedings very carefully. It was clear from the somewhat helpless expression on her face as she looked at the painting that she was clueless as to how much it was worth; she didn't need to ask the question.

Fagin realized, therefore, that he could easily exploit her lack of knowledge on the subject and get much more cash for himself without her even realizing it. This was certainly an attractive proposition, even inside his own head. But then...what if she wasn't as naive as she was letting on? What if she noticed?

The older man's paranoia was creeping upon him once again, and he had to admit it had a point. Besides, Jane seemed a genuinely nice individual...surely it would be wrong of him to cheat her out of her money, especially since she mentioned she needed all she could get (well...it was implied...she couldn't afford to frame her paintings, for goodness sake!)

Against his better judgement, considering his own monetary problems, Fagin decided to be fair for once. The cheating people out of their money came more with his criminal side, after all.

"Hmm..." he said, one eyebrow raised as he looked at the painting, as if mulling it over and giving his prolonged thought process on whether or not to cheat Jane some backup. "As I say I'm no expert...but considering the quality of the art in question and the subject matter...I'd take this one off your hands for forty five dollars."

[JANE EYRE]

"Forty-five dollars?" Jane repeated. She assumed that it was a good price but couldn't be certain. "Okay. Um, what about the other one?" Forty-five dollars wasn't enough to make her new rent. She needed more money, and Jane hoped that she could make up the difference with the second painting. Not to mention that Mr. Fagin had expressed interest in possibly buying some of her other things. Maybe this really was the answer to her problems.

And, for some reason, Jane felt like Mr. Fagin was being honest and forward with the price. He wasn't cheating her out of a couple of dollars. Which was good.

"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Fagin, for your generosity," Jane added with a shy smile. "You're really helping me out right now and your interest is really quite touching. It isn't often someone admires my work,"

[fagin]

"Forty five dollars? Okay. Um, what about the other one?"

Fagin studied the painting in question, tapping a gloved finger against his chin once again as he examined it, a small smile on his face. How he loved it when transactions went the way he wanted them to.

"Well, considering this one was done with oil paints, I'd say it'd cost more." Fagin said, with another nod. "Tell you what. How about I bump that one," he indicated the watercolour. "Up to fifty dollars? Then I take this one for sixty five." He pointed to the oil painting again. "Then you say you have new paintings every week or so? If you bring me something each week; just one thing, painting or otherwise, I'd be able to sell that for you too."

"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Fagin, for your generosity. You're really helping me out right now and your interest is really quite touching. It isn't often someone admires my work."

"Think nothing of it, Miss Eyre. It occurs to me that you deserve it. And, as I say, you're helping me out, so all's well in that regard. And, to be honest, I can't see why people wouldn't admire your work. You've got talent."

It wasn't often that Fagin paid people proper and heartfelt compliments; usually he fawned and flattered to get people on his side or stay out of trouble. But he really meant what he said to Jane. He admired her work a great deal.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane couldn't believe her ears when he raised the price and then offered to buy from her at least once a week. Unable to contain her joy, pure and overpowering, Jane pulled Mr. Fagin in for a quick one armed hug. "Oh thank you, thank you so much," Jane pulled back and smiled brightly. She flushed a little when she realized her out of character behavior and mumbled an apology immediately.

Jane held out both paintings for Mr. Fagin to take. "You're a wonderful man, Mr. Fagin," Jane said. "What time do you want me back every week? Maybe we can make a standing appointment?" Jane folded her portfolio back up and clipped it shut. She held it lightly in her hand, no longer using it as a shield. Now, it was simply, what it was. A leather folder, nothing more. Jane was happy that it was able to be what it was, as was she. It, a folder, her an artist.

A real artist who sold her work.