In a creeping came a cat (Tomcat)

The bookshop was not overly huge, but not small either, despite it's size it had that homey sort of quality to it that one gets in a place cared for in just the right way. It was warmly lit and furnished with hand made wood and neutral colours. There was a small fireplace with two large comfortable chairs next to it and some couches and tables, a small cafe tucked away so that students could come and study there, it had free wifi and as we all know, a cafe in a bookshop tends to attract people with a love for books. It was very much the kind of place you could spend hours in, looking to find just the right book. Next to the counter that had the tea and coffee making equipment and the till there was a glass cabinet with some exceedingly rare books in it. A first edition leatherbound copy of Poe's collected works, a book bound in leather so dark a red it was nearly black with the word "Dracula" embosses, some flecks of silver from where the word had been picked highlighted still showing very faintly, leather bound copies of the tales of the brothers Grimm, one in the original German, one in English and several other highly prized pieces all lay upon velvet, great care taken to preserve them clearly taken.

Behind the counter sat Sig, a metal teapot of turkish design sat on the counter next to a small glass of the same origin, there was a sweet apple smell emanating from it and he hummed mildly along to the music playing softly through the shop as he read, waiting for the first customer of the day.

Timber land boots smacked on the concrete. Paul walked along the streets, hands in his pockets and his head down. The diner had given him a week off because he'd been working so hard for the last two months. It was nice of them but not really that necessary. He was fine working because it helped him fit in. Which wasn't exactly easy being a British, illegal immigrant, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Keeping his head down made him feel safe and secure. However, when he wasn't working, staying inside and watching television just didn't fit him. If he stayed still too long it made him feel like there were bugs under his skin. He decided to take a walk. He'd only ever gotten to see the city when it was dark, so maybe looking at it when it was day time would make him feel better.

The not so fresh air of Los Angeles was actually quite refreshing. While he was dandering through the blocks, he found a place which looked... a mixture of quaint and cute. Cuaint? Qute? Qute worked. He gently pushed the door open and heard an old fashioned bell jingle. Slowly he stepped in and his eyes sheepishly scanned the room. Books. Best weapons in the world was the first thing that sprung to mind but he couldn't remember who'd said it. He noticed the guy sitting behind the counter but in typical English courtesy ignored him. It was polite and normal to do so in England, so it was probably polite and normal to do it here too.

He casually browsed the books. He'd never been good at reading but he'd always preferred it to TV. Something about how everyone always imagines the characters looking and sounding different appealed to him. Like every story was the same but unique.

He perused for about 5 minutes before his eyes met with a display case. He walked towards it and peered at the books within. Within his pockets, his fingers balled into fists. He felt a familiar urge in his head.

I. Want. Them.

He bit his lip gently, before clearing his throat to try and shake his Tomcat thoughts. Sheepishly, he walked up to the counter.

"H-hel-' His voice creaked. He hadn't spoken all day so took a moment to moisten his throat. 'Hello? I was wondering if you could tell me more about these books? the ones in the display case?"

He smiled. He looked like a nervous dork.

Sig smiled as he heard the boys breathing changed at the sight of the books in the case. He put down his cup of tea halfway to his lips and smiled, gesturing for the boy to come over as he took another cup from below the counter and poured him a glass of the apple tea. Pushing the cup over he gestured for the boy to take it as he sipped at his own, letting out a satisfied sigh before speaking softly with a strange accent - hints of Scandinavia, but with a thousand other places mixed in.

"What would you like to know, son?" His stance was completely open "Any in particular?"

Paul walked closer to the counter and picked up the cup in two hands. He didn't take a sip however, simply smelled it. Was far too hot in this country to be drinking tea. At least, for him it was. He looked down trying to think of questions, when three suddenly hit him at once.

"What are they?
Where are they from?
How old are they?"

Paul tried his hardest to sound like an enthused youngster, showing a trait uncommon to his generation; an interest in history.

Sig smiled and took a drink of his tea, murmuring to himself as he gestured to the comfortable chairs by the fire he stepped out from around the counter "Let's sit, you ask good questions." He walked over to the chair and sat himself down in the chair facing towards the door.

With another long breath he waited for the young man, he liked curious people.

Paul walked slowly over to the comfortable chairs and reluctantly sat near the fire. It's heat, combined with Los Angeles' natural air was almost overwhelming. He could feel himself breaking into a sweat. He set the tea down and put his hands on his lap, not really knowing what to do with them. He tapped his legs gently.

Everything English in him was screaming how weird this was, but for the sake of appearances, he went along with America's tendancy to be overly trusting of strangers. He sat patiently and waited for answers.

Sig raised an eyebrow as the boy came over, his body language said he was uncomfortable and then Sig realised the problem "Ah sorry, sorry!" He exclaimed, putting his tea down and reaching down to the side of the fire, concealing his hand from view as he absorbed the flames into his hand - the an observer it would look like he was switching the fire off if it were gas based. "There is a bone biting chill in here in the mornings." He said by way of explanation.

Having tended to that problem he retrieved his tea and sipped it "Better?" He asked "There is cold juice if you'd like."

He let out a silent sigh of relief as the fire was turned off. He still held the cup of Apple Tea within his hands. "No, I'm fine thanks." he smiled politely, sniffed the tea before looking back at the man. "Not really that thirsty."

"So, the books?" He raised an eyebrow and put the tea down on a small coffee table beside him. His fingers tapped on his lap. He was prepared to take in every detail.

Sig smiled "Yes the books, was there any one in particular you had your eye on?" He asked, gesturing over to the cabinet. There was of course no price listed for any of them as the value of such rare and old pieces changed so frequently. Some of course he left merely as decoration, but there was no way he was going to mark them as unavailable, it drove up interest in the rest of his stock if he left such enticing pieces out in the open. During the day at least.

With those thoughts Sig sighed internally, feeling the touch of his age and having done perhaps too many things. He liked to sell things, to share the rarities and oddities he came across, but he wished he didn't sound so like a merchant, even in his own head.

One in particular? Paul thought on it for a moment, before he smiled like a nerd. An enthused one, but a nerd none the less.

"The one in the middle; about The Red Panther."
He fidgeted in his seat. "Where did you get them? They seem old."

He opened his eyes a little further. "I didn't see a price tag, are they valuable? Are they for sale?"

Paul would be perfectly happy buying them, or trading them for jewels or some money, but he knew Tomcat wouldn't be grateful; He preferred to work for the things he wanted and wasn't a fan of giving things away.

With eyes lit up by amusement Sig nodded, taking another drink of his tea before coming up short, looking into the cup; "Empty." He muttered to himself before putting the cup down. He thought for a moment before answering. "That isn't a book about, it is a book by the Red Panther, Miss Drivers of London," He gestured "A diary of her exploits, rebound in new leather after her death and sold on " he took another moment as though considering the rest of the question.

"How I came to own them is a long story, let's just say I have a great many friends across the world and I like unique things." He smiled "They are mostly for sale, but the price is a funny thing, for most it is upwards of a hundred thousand dollars, which is what I could get for renting them to a museum for three years." He leaned forward "But that one, that one is special. That I cannot sell."

Whenever the man mentioned that the book wasn't a copy, it was an original, Paul's breathing nearly stopped. When he mentioned six figure numbers, he gasped quietly. Looks like a trade wasn't going to be possible. Good. Paul continued to listen with bated breath. And then the man mentioned something which drove Tomcat crazy. He couldn't sell it.

The best way to get a thief to want something is to say they can't have it. Paul himself didn't react that much, instead he put on a face of slight disappointment. Tomcat however was scratching up the walls. He wanted that book and he absolutely intended on taking it. Paul himself sighed "Shame it's not for sale; no way I'd have afforded it anyway, not on a student budget." He chuckled, before looking at his watch. "Oh crap, I'm gonna be late." He stood up and nodded his head to the guy. "Thanks. Bye. I'll be back; I'll probably just buy a normal book though, haha."

He rushed to the door, opened it. The bell rang and then the door closed. Gone.

There was a twinkle in his eye as Sig watched the young man go, he picked up the still warm cup of tea he had made for the young man and took a sip, smiling to himself, thinking2]] 'He'll be back,'[/i] as he pottered about, clearing up after their little encounter and tidying things away. 'If he's meant to have the book, he'll be back.' He went over to the case and looked at the journal fondly, remembering the woman it documented. She had been wild, completely at odds with her time and he had loved her for it. He had promised never to sell her book, that it could only be won, one way or another.

He sighed to himself and sat down behind the counter, picking up a book about the construction of violins - his next pet project. "Hmm, interesting." he murmured to himself, sinking further into his comfortable chair.