The fox condemns the trap, not himself.

[returnsmagic]

Who: Aurican and Mr. Gold
When: Backdated to Tuesday afternoon, 'cause I rock.
Where: At Mr. Gold's pawn shop I have no idea where it is really
Summary: Aurican, AKA Eurig, sees an interesting shop and goes window shopping.
Warnings: None.

Sometimes when he is off shift he likes to go shopping. Of course, this result in him simply teleporting to the Underground Mall to see how things are selling and what are the latest offers. But sometimes, he walks among the vehicles and the people without any magic and sees something different.

A pawn shop.

Aurican has heard of such shops - where people fascinated with things of possible historical value come here, or the truly desperate sell their most valuable assets for a measly price. Something about it makes Aurican disapprove the methods, but despite his age, he little to no inclination of anything knowledgeable to the economy. He payed more attention to his music than world economics in his time and day.

But still.

Aurican opens the door and enters the shop.

Comments

[faustianism]

The bell above the door jingled, and Mr. Gold stepped out from the back room. He'd started a pot of tea, and while he was taking a break from polishing silver, he'd come back to it later. It wasn't going anywhere.

"Hello," He said pleasantly. "Can I help you?"

[returnsmagic]

"Hello," Aurican greeted. He looks around, noticing the shelves of various things, of antiques and knicks-knacks. Half of which Aurican has no idea what purpose they supposed to have.

"Oh, I'm just browsing around. I've never been to a pawn shop before."

[faustianism]

"No?" Mr. Gold looked a little shock. Too dramatic of an act, but he could only hold it for a second before he came over to the other counter. "Then please, let me assist you. I'm Mr. Gold, this is my shop. Is there anything you would particularly like to see? We have, as you'll see, everything here."

[returnsmagic]

"Thank you," Aurican replies pleasantly. He notices the man's overdramatic reaction, but pays no mind to it. His employer has a familiar flair.

"You have anything of musically-inclined?"

[faustianism]

"Hm. I do have a few key pieces. Old, of course. I wouldn't sell anything new; we're not that sort of a shop," He gestures for him to follow to a part of the shop where several instruments were on stands.

"A viola, a harp... I believe this is an accordion. Several harmonicas, as well, those do tend to sell quickly."