ArchivedLogs:Rearranging Inventory

Rearranging Inventory
Dramatis Personae Chloe, Shane
In Absentia	2014-02-22 '
Location <NYC> Spin - Harlem
Half record store, half music shop, Spin is a music lovers' haven. The record side of the store holds everything from vintage vinyl to the newest releases, both new and secondhand, with miscellaneous paraphernalia -- posters, t-shirts, pins -- held in bins along one wall. On the other side of the store, dedicated musicians can find a wealth of sheet music, from modern rock guitar tabs to classical violin and piano pieces. Behind the counter, higher priced rare items are secured away behind the glass. In a departure from the usual bent of this type of store, the shelves are kept meticulously organized. A sudden leap of temperature up into the mid-fifties with a clear sunny day to accompany it has brought people spilling out into the oddly futuristic city in droves today. While many are out and about scavenging stars from their myriad hiding places about town, some are just /out/, jogging, dog-walking, shopping, generally enjoying the respite from ice and snow. Shane today is picking a little of column A, a little of column B; he has a large messenger bag slung over his chest that rattles quietly when he moves with the accumulated wealth of many hunted stars. He has, also, a skateboard held by one truck at his side, though he's not /dressed/ in particularly typical skater-gear. Instead he wears very /neat/ grey slacks, a long-sleeved button-down with a houndstooth vest over top, an immaculately tied bow tie. A black top hat with a pinstriped band around it, perched atop his spiky head. The tiny blue teenager still has a telltale clue-slip of paper held in one hand that tells of the hunting he's been up to, but at the moment all he is hunting is, apparently, sheet music, poking through a selection of pieces for solo violin. In his hand is a small booklet with a trio of Bacewicz pieces; he's examining it thoughtfully, enormous black eyes fixed down on the page. The door jingles as it opens, admitting one cheerful-looking woman with curly hair held back in a half-ponytail; the bounce in her step sends her mass of curls bobbing as she moves. Chloe doesn't particularly stand out in dress, a neat tan leather jacket over a deep green long-sleeved top, dark blue boot-cut jeans, tan ankle boots with just a little bit of heel on them, an oversized leather purse slung over her shoulder. She stops by the counter to ask a quick question of the cashier, turning to head back towards the sheet music once she's directed that way. The bounce in her step comes to a quick halt at the sight of the small blue person already in the aisle she's heading for. Initially she stops, eyes slightly wider, jaw set slightly harder. It takes a few seconds for her to stop gaping enough to keep walking -- a lot more /gingerly/ as she starts to skirt by Shane with a look of decided distaste in her expression, lips curled in disgust. Shane's eyes lift from his sheet music with the sound of someone approaching; reflexively he shifts a half-step closer to the shelf, pulling his messenger bag slightly inward to make more room for someone to pass by. His posture bristles up at Chloe's expression, though; he shifts to stand a /little/ bit taller, spreads his stance to take just that many more inches of space instead. "Oh, forgive me, am I bothering you? I did forget to ask permission before existing, today." "Smart mouth on you, kid." Chloe stops shy of actually passing by Shane, steps halting a couple feet away from him. She drops one hand to rest on the shelves beside them. "I'm not /bothered/. I just didn't know they let animals shop here." There's a whispery-scratchy noise from beneath Shane's collar, and the muscles at his neck tense. He exhales sharply, lips twitching upward as his eyes drop back to continue perusing his sheet music. "I know. No standards, right?" His hands tip the sheet music outward to gesture with it towards Chloe. "I mean, they're letting /any/ old bitch in, apparently." Chloe snorts at this, quick and amused. "Maybe not for much longer." She slips around Shane, continuing across to the other side of the store. Quietly humming to herself, though this stops as she heads over to browse the selection of music. Her eyes flick only intermittently in Shane's direction, hands mostly busy with the rakcs of discs. Perhaps busier than they really /need/ to be. Picking up one and then another and another, fussing with where to put them back. Checking her phone in her purse in between. Apparently very indecisive today about her music. Shane tenses up hard as Chloe slips past, teeth gritting and his muscles tightening. He is quiet, though, eyes tracking her across the room and then just returning to his browsing in quiet. He tucks the Bacewicz under an arm, continuing on to browse through Bartók next. Then Erőd. There's still decidedly more tension in his form than there had been previously, posture shifting restlessly as he makes his selections. Eventually Chloe apparently finishes making her decisions; for all her poking around there's only one album in her hand. She loops back around by Shane once more, rather than cutting through a different aisle. This time, as she passes him, she bumps rather heavily up against his messenger bag with a rough jostling as her bag tangles with it -- despite /being/ the one who evidently tripped and stumbled into him she meets this collision with a sharp, "-- /Hey/!" that draws the eyes of the clerk at the desk quickly. "/Watch/ it." Shane bares his sharp teeth abruptly in a sudden hiss, stumbling back against the shelves with a thud; his black eyes widen, claws lengthening reflexively. "Fuck's your problem," he snaps irritably, hugging his music selection close against his chest. "Didn't even goddamn touch you, you embleer --" He grits his teeth sharply when he notices the clerk's staring, hands lifting, palms-out, as he backs up a few steps. He tugs at his messenger bag crankily to dislodge it from her purse, clapping one hand to the side of his collar as he glares at her through narrowed eyes. Chloe /flicks/ a hand against her purse whe she has it wholly back again like she's dusting off some /contamination/ from it. She exhales sharply, one quick snort, and says nothing further. She turns her back on Shane, heels clipped against the floor as she strides off towards the counter, leaning in to murmur something quietly to the clerk as she pays for her purchase. The young man at the desk nods, eyes flicking after Shane. Chloe just smiles as she gets her CD, slipping it and the receipt into her bag and turning to head back out of the store. Shane is still browsing sheet music as Chloe leaves. /Possibly/ waiting until the woman is good and done paying before he heads up himself, to pay for his purchases. He at least is polite, if still tense, as he pays, takes the bag of sheet music and tucks it into the back flap of his messenger bag. He's slipping his phone out of his pocket to check the time as he heads out of the store, himself. The store alarms start to blare their protest as Shane passes by the detectors. "--- Eugh." Shane stops with a look trapped between bewildered and /pained/, phone clutched tight as both his hands lift to press over his ears. "Augh -- that's." His shoulders are tense and shaking; he backs a little bit up away from the door. "Can you -- please --" "I'm going to need to check your bag," the clerk answers, beckoning Shane over with a look -- /also/ a little trapped, though this is between annoyed and /wary/. "Yeah, sure, just. The alarm --" Shane reluctantly pulls a hand away from his ear so that he can take the bag off, heading back to drop it onto the counter. The alarm ceases its blaring shortly after Shane moves away from it. The clerk opens up Shane's bag to peer inside it. He ignores the collection of salvaged stars from around the city, instead pulling out a small stack of CDs. Mostly classical, though Ryan Black's award-winning album is in there. Shane's eyes open huge and wide, and for a moment his mouth just gapes open in silence. "Wha -- I -- did not. Those aren't -- I didn't --" His mouth /snaps/ shut, and abruptly he turns to /glare/ towards the exit. The clerk is just looking /skeptical/. "Uh-/huh/. Right, kid, you're probably going to want to just move off to the side here while we get this sorted." He's already picking up the phone to call the cops. For a brief moment Shane eyes his messenger bag. Eyes the clerk. Eyes the door, all very /assessingly/. But then his shoulders slump inward in a defeated kind of wilt, and he slides off to the side of the desk, dropping his hand to scroll through his phone's contact list with a very resigned look.