ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Owner Pose
Stockton Stockton doesn't announce himself save to push the door inward until the bell clangs. He's got several bolts of cloth he's put together with the scraps that he's found, the singular leather roll wrapped around them to protect the delicates. Sparrow might even notice that the big Merc pauses at the door to stomp his big boots free of mud and muck before stepping inside. The tall man gives the shorter blonde an inviting head tilt before pushing inside. He ducks a display and weaves his way to the counter to wait patiently for the shop keep to make an appearance.
Beau The large plate glass window in the front of the shop is appointed with several fancy dresses and draped with a heavy velveteen purple curtain with golden trim. The rest of the shop is decorated in dark woods and various bolts of fabric are piled in every corner. "If it isn't my favorite stockboy." Beau's voice comes from the back of the shop and the owner of that smooth baritone steps out from behind the folding screen in the far corner. He is well dressed but his tall stove pipe hat is across the room on a wooden bust, this leaves his severe part neatly visible alond the center of his skull. "And you've brought a friend... come in darlings."

Beau beckons them inside with a curl of his long fingers as he crosses to the counter in the front of the room. Beau stops mid stride and blinks at the girl, "You're a Drake, aren't you?" He laughs with polite regard, "I'll eat my hat if I'm wrong, knew your parents."
Sparrow Sparrow doesn't bother to clean her boots; mind you she's more dusty and road filth covered than muddy thanks to having a horse to ride around on. She takes off her hat as she steps after Stockton carrying a couple rolls of leather to go along with the bolts the big man has. Just helping make a delivery. Sparrow has very little need for pretty clothing.

Sparrow at least uses her handkerchief to eipe her face showing a face like her mothers. Lovely, bright blue eyes, but weathered and pre-aged. She's the baby of the Drake bunch, no more than five when her parents were murdered. Without a smile Sparrow tips her head. "Sir." The introduction seems to have caught Sparrow off guard.
Stockton Stockton is removing his helmet to set it heavily on the counter beside the bolts of fabric and the extra leather that Sparrow brought along. A hand moves up to push his hair back in a uniform fashion once more before his easy smile flinches a little at that introduction. When Sparrow can't speak, the normally uncharismatic fellow steps in as proxy best he can. "Ah. Mr. Beau Ardor, Miss Sparrow Drake. No need to eat any hats, hm?" surely he didn't think the man was literal? "Got this week's delivery, I dunno what a puce is, but I asked and made sure none of it were paisley or puce," He unrolls the leather to expose the three bolts to the picky tailor.
Beau "Shame, what happened to your parents. Good people." Passing apology flavors his words before the business man's zeal overtakes his tone. Beau disappears one of his hands under the counter and he brings out a thin wooden dowel. Gesturing to the counter top, "Have some new fabrics for me?" He taptaps the counter sharply. "Place them up."

Beau waits patiently for the fabrics to be placed on the counter as he abides, "Paisley I adore, darling. Its the puce I've no use for, horrendous shade of greenish yellow, like the inside of a radroach." Beau lolls his hand in the air with the dowell, "Bring me a purple paisley and I might even pay you double for it." A foppish grin twists in Sparrows direction as, one girl to another, he informs, "I just adore purple, don't you?"
Sparrow The young blonde inclines her head again to Beau, "They were. Thank you, kindly." Well, at least she has some manners. Sparrow's expression remains neutral not exacerbating the early crows feet or stern lines around her lips. The dowel is considered with mute interest and her arms fold under her, well, they fold over her chest really. Unfortunate woman.

She watches Stockton interact with Beau, Beau who seems to be gaining a mildly bewildered look. "Purple? Can't say as I've seen enough of it to say, Mr. Ardor. I find grays and browns tend to get less dirty in my line of work though."

She steps up to take a look at the cloth that Stockton had brought home from his adventures with a tiny pull of her lips towards a frown. The stoic blonde is probably not at all the kind of lady Beau often gets in his shop. Fitting she'd come in with the wild man of all people.
Stockton Stockton let's the passing consolations pass between his two employers for a quiet moment before he gets to showing off the various fabrics he's found, for a burly Merc, he's at least got an eye for finding shit. Whether or not it's good shit is debatable. But it's useable. "Purple Paisley...if I find it, I'll bring it," he mutters before making a face, he's seen the inside of radroaches, it didn't quite look like that fabric he brought, but hey, he could well be colorblind. The conversation between the 'ladies' has the man giving a little feral smirk, Sparrow's response is pretty much expected. "Is it still a hundred caps a piece?" the big guys says a bit hopefully. Stupid sucker really shouldn't be asking so much as telling. But he doesn't really know the art of the deal. He's better at just shooting someone and taking what he wants.
Beau The reality of it is more likely that Beau has /never/ seen the inside of a radroach and just enjoys colorful epitaphs. "Do try... because while the quality on this is fine.. the... colors.." He stirs through the bits of cotton and length of linen. "Leave something to be desired." Beau isn't trying to pull a fast one over on his new friends and he hooks a bit of faded acid washed denim to the end of his dowel. Gesturing at Sparrow, "I wouldn't even make a hair bow out of this, would you?" Its rhetorical, he continues, "I can give you... thirty caps for each of the ugly colors." He purses his lips and sucks at the inside of his teeth as if considering something.
Sparrow Sparrow looks at the faded denim when he asks about hair bows and gives beau the most befuzzled expression. "A hair bow? Out of .." She looks at Stockton with a slow blink. Does -he- understand what beau's sayin'. Thankfully the question was rhetorical because Sparrow has abolustely no idea. Looking at her it's doubtful she's ever seen a cosmetic in her life either (or a good soap or shampoo). She looks towards Stockton and shrugs helplessly. She's of no help. If Stock had picked Horses, or Medkits or something other than 'nice things' she might've had a shot.
Stockton Stockton flinches a little at the mention of the colors, that was just going to perpetually be his downfall. Without backup from Sparrow or any clue about textiles and color and fashion, the big Merc just shrugs helplessly and nods, "Alright fine. Same price for the leathers?" he asks while nodding at the pile that Sparrow brought in along with his one. He watches the merchant though, cautious of that ponderous nature, he is always braced for the next boot to fall.
Beau "No, I have more leather than I can sell right now and your holster is curing... should be done by the end of the week." Beau pulls out the large black book with various ribbons in the binding saving different pages. He grabs the teal ribbon and flips the large bible-sized book open to Stockton's page. It has the man's name at the top in a dramatic calligraphy. "Ask me about leather next week if you haven't sold it to someone else. Do we have a deal for the scraps?" Beau sets his stick down and holds a hand out to shake Stockton's and confirm the thirty caps.
Sparrow Sparrow is staying out of the bartering but she's also gotten distracted. While Stock and beau speak she's wandered off towards some of the clothing set on the racks. She does cast a glance towards the window but it's breif and she's looking back towards the shelf of nice nuetral white linen shirts and new pants. She does keep an ear on the men but she's distracted by function over fashionable clothes.
Stockton Stockton doesn't sigh or guffaw, he just settles his bigger hand into the Dandy's and shakes firmly twice. The deal was made, he left the cloth on the counter before rolling up the leather and stuffing it into a strap on the back of his belt. "I'll see you about the leather next week if I still got it then," he says while shaking the other man's hand. Taking up his helmet he glances back to catch Sparrow in the engineer/farmer lineup of clothing and smirks. It's a fond glint in his eye before he turns back to the Dandy. "Then you ain't got reason fer a stockboy fer a while. I'll check back in next week," business concluded he waits for his caps while glancing over the clothing on display.
Beau "Back in a pip!" Beau turns on a smooth pivot and heads back behind the folding screen in the back of the shop, the sound of something metal that /might/ be a safe or lockbox can be heard. Beau walks back out with a small sackcloth bag the likes of which Stockton is no doubt familiar. This one is smaller than last time. "Oh, business is ever in flux, loves. Just check back, big orders come in when I least expect it sometimes... and I may just need that leather. At your leisure though. Don't trouble yourselves."
Sparrow Sparrow stops eyeing the clothing when Stockton starts to move. Paying more attention to location than anything else. So she turns and moves to meet up with Stockton once he's done his business. She inclines her head to Beau as he moves to pay the big man. "Mr. Ardor. Hopefully business will be more steady as time goes on. Pleasure to meetcha. Evenin'" The stern studious blonde turns away to head for the door though she does give one last look at the clothing.
Stockton Stockton takes up his caps and tucks the pouch into a pocket after molesting the pouch a moment. "We'll be back next week," he promises the Dandy as he takes up the helmet and tucks it under his arm. "Til then, Mr. Ardor," he tips an invisible hat at the fancy dressed man and takes the leathers back tot he door with him. He even opens it for Sparrow, letting her stroll out onto the streets first.