[PRP] Everything Has a Price (Jarett x Caspian)

[Venexia]

The thing about business was you had to know your market.

Caspian Elliot Merreau had spent three long hours staring at the bottle he had found the previous day. It was an odd thing, browns and yellows with a snake? It was some sort of reptile that lacked legs, poor thing. He had thumbed through his various books, trying to figure out exactly what it was. A collector’s item? He had turned it upside-down, expecting some sort of lettering engraved in the glass, an indicator of what it was. Blank. Everything about that bottle had been a mystery. So he had come to the conclusion that the only place for mysteries was in a museum. (Where they could be locked up, gather dust and never be seen again). He knew that museums dished out cash for extraordinary ancient wonders; perhaps his bottle would fit the bill. If not, maybe one of the workers could direct him in the right way, the way to the emerald city – of money.

His left arm clutched the bottle, hidden under his jacket. Partly because he didn’t want any other pedestrians to see it and mostly because it couldn’t stare at him when covered in a sea of black fabric. It was silly and foolish but he couldn’t help it. During those long hours of the night he had felt it. Someone’s eyes meeting his. Someone watching him. Something watching him. He exhaled sharply. He was acting like an idiot. Merreau scolded himself for such behaviour but no matter how many times he repeated it, the bottle still stayed pressed against his chest. He wouldn’t look at it unless he had to; it was just too eerie to be watched by an inanimate object all the time.

He opened the door slowly, dust and the smell of…old filling his lungs. Merreau used a substantial about of will to stop from hacking out in displeasure. Dust. Dead. Rotting. Old. Corpses. He didn’t see much point in museums, who wanted to dwell on the past when there was a future to look forward to? Who wanted to waste their time and money to see these trifles when they could harness their time to make money? He had been sure that museums were but a waste of money, but, there was this bottle and this bottle could make money. He hadn’t seen the profit in museums until now, so he sucked in his last breath of good, clean air and bravely marched inside.

His steps echoed, his every move seemed amplified under the eyes of the museum. They were everywhere. Everywhere. History was watching him. The bottle seemed to bite at his chest. Everything was watching him. Merreau swore, and it too was echoed, perhaps a little too loudly. Everything freaking thing was watching him today. His mouth twisted, forming a snarl of sorts and he slowly inched his way over to a counter. This was where you paid your entrance fee no? It was a good starting place. He wasn’t quite sure whether there was a knowledgeable bloke behind the counter. He didn’t care much either. It was but a starting point and he could be directed in the right way. It could take time, he didn’t care, the profits would be worth it. Slowly, he drew out the bottle, and lay it on the counter, never looking at it lest the bottle make eye contact with him.

With that out in the open, he flipped open the face of his pocket watch, made note of the time before snapping it shut curtly.

“I believe,” he said, “that this object might be fitting for such a place. I’m wondering how much it would go for.” It was as simple as that.  

[Rown]

Jarett had been moved from his secluded hovel to the main desk today, the woman naturally watching the spot off to the hospital to have a baby, and as he tried to slink himself further away from the encroaching sun he found that booths were not able to be moved so easily. He'd settled for wearing his sunglasses while sitting there, ignoring whatever he boss had to say about him not looking professional, but who cared about looks when he had to save his eyes. Seeing was nice, looking like someone who worked in a museum not so much. Besides, he was the bagger and tagger anyway! Looks need not apply for that job.

He'd been passing most of his day uneventfully trying to avoid the sun when a rather smarmy (in his gracious opinion) man came striding in and dropped something on the desktop, opening his mouth to speak about wanting to sell it. It took a moment for the younger man to register that this person was talking to him and not to anyone else, which would make sense since Jarett was alone and actually upstairs. Bullocks.

"I don't believe this bottle is anything we can sell sir, nor would it be part of our museum's collection. I have yet to see anything like this, and I work as the artifact resident."

Oh, so his job actually did have something of a title. . . or he'd just made one up. His accent today was thick and rough, sounding like the sea or a man who was always on the sea. Very nice.

His eyes cast to the item one more time after saying no initially, and Jarett lowered his sunglasses further down his nose to get a better look. This shape seemed familiar, if not the color, and he quickly turned to his side and reached for a pack that had been keeping him company since his arrival upstairs.

"I can say that with confidence sir as I too possess one of these strange items. It is not quite the same, mind you, but very similar."  

[Venexia]

Caspian frowned. The man sounded of the sea, of nature. Nature, he believed was something frivolous, resources to be harnessed – but hardly, hardly something to be. Nature was an investment, not an investor. It ought to know it’s place, and men with silly accents like the one before him certainly did not aid Caspian’s cause. People could be so idiotic some times, and the wiry man didn’t attempt to stifle his ever so slightly condescending tone of voice. Nature was below him, this man was below him, this whole world was below –

This man processed one of these bottles? His eyes widen slightly, processed this information. Similar he had stated, but not exactly. What exactly did this mean? Were they collector’s items then? Perhaps it had the same design, but a different pattern? His eyes darted to his bottle, stealing a quick glance. Was the snake – or whatever beast of a reptile that lurked inside it – watching him? He gulped, and snapped his gaze back to fix on the other man’s face. He hated his stupid bottle. Why couldn’t it just be a museum valuable? He wanted to throw it at the man, yell and scream: “Take it! Take it! Take it!” But, that would require giving something up for free, something that Caspian would never be able to wrap his head around. Not to mention one always had to remain calm and composed in public. It would go against his morals.

He had half a mind to walk out, take the bottle and go pawn it off elsewhere. Yet he couldn’t lie, he was intrigued. More of them, more of this horrid bottles floating about; he shuddered inwardly at the thought. What was his like? Where did he find it? He had found it propped up in the crowded streets – did this man know who made them? Or where they were from? And, most importantly, how much they were worth? So many questions, and he was curious, a flood of questions and eagerness. But those questions had to be suppressed, calculated, and phrased. That was why Caspian had been blessed with a brain.

“You have one?” He asked, the question sounding more like a statement, “How is it different than this one, exactly? I stumbled upon this thing in the streets, is that how you found yours?”  

[Rown]

"To start with, the colors are quite different. Yours is a defined yellow, more is a more subdued shade of monochrome. Also, I have the feeling when I look at your bottle that I am uneasy."

Jarett did his best to sound polite as he fished the bottle in his own bag out, setting the heavy item atop the counter and directly next to the one this strange man has brought in. It gave off no feeling towards him, like this other one had, no sense of dread or being watched. Instead it merely sat there, not colorful at all.

To be honest he found his own bottle much more appealing now that the two objects were side by side, his tastes for color coming into play. Even if it was mute he still wasn't overly fond of the yellow tones issued from this man's item but as someone who was in a position to perhaps purchase said object he had no room to discuss his likes and dislikes. Jarett would have to maintain a professional air.

"If not for the colors I would say there is hardly a difference. Though, is your bottle extremely heavy at times? There are certain instances where I feel this bottle gains more mass and I have to put more effort into lifting it, but perhaps that can be explained that I'm nothing more than a little weary."

He paused as he thought about the proper way to explain how he'd come across the bottle, trying to pass in his mind if this gentleman would understand it enough to see that Jarett really wasn't interested in purchasing this piece of glass off his hands. Tact would be needed.

"I came across this bottle down in my office. It was sitting on a shelf along with other artifacts needing to be sorted, but was sorely out of place with the time period. Its design is too modern perhaps to be considered hailing from the era we are currently working on displaying, not to mention it wasn't nearly as dusty nor showing half the signs of aging the other pieces displayed."

If people were finding these bottles on the streets, perhaps the weren't even a quarter of the rare percent that he'd thought them to be.

"Your bottle is the first one I have seen other than my own, so I do not know anything more about them."