The most vital booth.

[Thomas Jenkins]

DATE: 01/23/16

"You can watch, if you want," Thomas offered in a soft, neutral tone of voice, managing to sound hopeful and unconcerned at the time. It contrasted weirdly with the hardcore music fighting out of a blue tooth tower speaker on one side of his table, definitely audible among the din of the market, but not turned up loud enough to be conspicuous.

Something about the way he said those words rubbed the young twenty-something at his booth the wrong way, because the guy shook his head and rubbed his forearm, stammering, "N-no, that's alright," and averting his eyes as he reconsidered his purchase. He'd already shoved ten bucks in Tommy's chosen vessel, though. It looked like one of those huge plastic tubs of party mix, label carefully removed and a wide slit cut into the top. He didn't feel like he could take it back, especially since Dr. Jenkins had been charging forty dollars for the same thing just a couple months earlier. Well, he wasn't getting a certificate or a mounting board, but the pencil and shavings would be his, and that was something! 

Clearly, Thomas was a wizard for convincing people ten dollars was a good deal for a sharpened #2 pencil in a tube. The fact that he could make the creative experience sound suggestive was on another level. There was no outward indication that he was joking. In fact, he had never looked so serious about anything in his life. To the learned eye, that level of seriousness meant he was definitely fucking with people but, well, despite the TV show and everything, he wasn't a household name. He had friends here, but not so many that most people got what was going on. Hell, sometimes people who thought they 'got it' didn't, not really. Overall, Thomas could be a controversial figure for this reason alone, before anyone got into any of his other work. 

"OK, suit yourself," Thomas shrugged. "If you don't care to see what your money's paying for, I won't stop you. I'll be done in twenty minutes." He'd probably be done sooner, but he wanted to give himself a little wiggle room to account for distractions or maybe even catastrophes.

Without further fanfare, he shook a pencil from an open box to his right, setting the box down and lowering his illuminated lenses over his eyes. After flicking the rows of lights surrounding the lenses on, he put his head down and got to work. Securing the pencil in his right hand, he picked up a small antique knife with a smooth rosewood handle in his left and began applying it to the pencil's cedar shaft. He pushed the dull edge of the blade down the pencil with his thumb, carefully rotating it in his hand as the sharp edge cut closer and closer to the graphite core. He seemed totally zen, in spite of the screaming coming out of the speaker next to him. Hell, that seemed to contribute to it; he was humming along, softly.

As promised, his customer walked off and left him to his work.

Current song

[Selina Taylor]

    Selina didn’t often visit flea markets, but she liked to explore and she figured going inside once wouldn’t kill her. She walked past all of the different amenities, most of no value to her, with a vaguely disinterested expression. She occasionally paused and picked up a few things to look at more closely, but most of it she just left where it lay. She did perk up in curiosity however when she saw a man… sharpening a pencil.

    She knew flea markets had everything, but this was a little out of the ordinary even for a flea market. Curious as to what a man sharpening pencils was doing here, she made her way over after a customer left and watched him in silence for a few moments before she grinned, a familiar heat in her low tone as she greeted the man, “You seem to be quite skilled with your hands,” she offered with a playful smirk.

    She had no idea what he was doing here… and his music was unfamiliar to her. Surely it couldn’t be so simple as working with pencils. Was there something more to it? She had to be missing something… right? Selina glanced over his stand, trying to figure him out. Puzzles intrigued her, and for now he was an enigma.

    Selina was interested for the moment, and if he could keep her attention perhaps she’d stay a while longer. She didn’t plan on buying anything here, so it was more to pass the time than anything else. Sh had spent too much time at work lately, and living with Riley, while definitely a positive, meant she had less time to herself. Not that she minded at all, but sometimes it was nice to get out and away from people she knew for a while. It was becoming easier and easier with the town’s rapid growth for her to submerge herself in anonymity, and the part of her that grew up in and loved Santiago was incredibly appreciative. Small towns really weren’t her thing.

    Kalispell had been… an interesting move for her. She still wasn’t sure if she wanted to eventually return to Santiago, especially now that she was out of school, but she also had her job here and good friends that she highly valued. Selina still felt homesick on occasion but it had faded greatly since her first few months here. Selina blinked her thoughts away to study the curiosity in front of her. He had seemed to be busy, but Selina didn't think speaking would be too great an imposition. After all, it was just a pencil.

[Thomas Jenkins]

Thomas wasn't just sharpening a pencil! He was taking the sort of care in his work that was normally reserved for more, well, important duties. His eyes were steady upon the emerging cylinder of graphite, his hands working steadily and carefully to free it of its cedar trapping. By using his illuminated lenses, he was able to remain relaxed while working, rather than straining himself and making his task unpleasant. His head was faintly tilted and his fingers grasping a stubbornly stuck on bit of shaving when he heard a young woman's voice rise over the music beside him. That provided a familiar auditory distraction for his ears to focus on, rather than the unpredictable din of the market around him, so it did have a purpose!

While placing his knife and pencil on the table, he told her, "Yes, many hours of practice have afforded me a very exacting touch," voice soft and monotone. Putting on this guise of an artisan who takes his work - and, by extension, himself - very seriously allowed him to succeed in this venture, where otherwise he would've been quickly flustered by her suggestive tone. Reaching up to flick off the LED bulbs on his lenses, he pulled them up to sit atop his head as he lifted it to look at the woman before him. Having put on a simple white, collared shirt beneath his black apron, his surroundings caused his eyes to express their brown pigments above all others. The result was a dark, intense stare at this interested party, though it didn't actually meet her eyes; his focus fell just short, centered somewhere in the bridge of her nose.

His words came to be at odds with the emotionless, indifferent tone in which they were spoken. "Of course, in the absence of any natural ability, I don't think I would have reached this level of proficiency." Were his pale lips curving in a smile, or was that her imagination? Those sure were a lot of words to say I'm a natural. Such was the guise he assumed!

[Selina Taylor]

    Selina grin turned almost predatory as he seemingly responded in kind. “So I see… You’re very experienced with working wood then?” she asked with a slightly impish glint in her dark brown eyes. Even with his salt and pepper hair, he didn’t seem to be too much older than herself… relatively speaking. Perhaps she was merely making excuses because she was often attracted to older men, but regardless, this was definitely a more diverting way to spend her time than wandering past items she’d never buy.

    Selina had no trouble maintaining eye contact with others, and so met his gaze squarely… at least as much as she could. Selina let out a low laugh at his next words, “But of course… and I imagine those skilled fingers can be put to many uses...” she offered with a sensual lilt lining her words. How interesting. Who could have ever guessed that pencils would afford her such lovely options for conversation? Selina was highly amused by the whole thing and wondered why she hadn’t thought of this back in college. So many teachers could have been made so uncomfortable… Then again, Selina was well aware it would only have been the women that she approached with such talk. If she ever found herself in a school setting again, the same might even still be true. Despite her personal growth over the past three years… men in positions of authority still made her wary to say the least.

    The sweatshirt she’d worn in to keep out the Montana chill was getting a little too warm inside of the heated market, so she swiftly removed it with the intimate familiarity of practice and tied it to her waist. Her black jeans complimented her deep red blouse well. Even if it was only to go shopping, Selina enjoyed dressing well. Selina then focused once more on the stand before her, “Is sharpening pencils truly all you do?” she asked in genuine curiosity.