Between the bidding on the desk, and maybe the confusion that he expressed kept Pidge from asking more questions about David. For now his business at the auction was forgotten, and he could separate himself slowly from the girl. It was busy and crowded enough inside the auction house that David could just slip into the throng and become invisible. Should the worst happen, there were ways to make himself different without much more than a little bit of water, and taking off his jacket. Right now his hair was laying smooth and flat, well groomed. Use the water to spike it a little, and it became a little darker when wet. He could take his jacket and pressed shirt, leaving a simple white undershirt. He’d look like any other bloke just walking about on the streets.

Plans to make his getaway were cut short though by a hand grabbing onto his arm. There was a very good reason why David hadn’t touched Pidge, and it was the same reason why he hadn’t shaken anyone’s hands. The second that his hand started to close into a fist his powers activated, and it took great muscle strength to keep his arms from moving in high speed. He tensed up, more so in his body than in his arm, which he was making a very conscious effort to not move, and to not have his hand tighten into a fist. This was an unexpected turn for the evening, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure if he welcomed it or not. Being taken away by an attractive girl was always nice, but this one seemed to be able to read him like a book. Not what he wanted.

Additionally there was the matter of her escort. If he had been less then thrilled earlier by David simply standing near Pidge, he was going to murder him if he saw this. Already David was thinking of the worst possible injuries that he would be getting for this escapade. “I take it that you have a good reason for leading me out of there before the auction is entirely finished? What if there was something that I had intended on bringing home?” He was keeping up with her, mostly because she was holding onto his arm. David wasn’t about to let her know that he was a mutant. Hell, he hadn’t told anyone before. If there was a way that he could get his arm free without having to use his hands he’d be going the other direction right then. But the problem was that she was holding onto him tightly, and he did not touch hands with anyone.

There was a slight amount of tension in the man's arm as she took hold of it, but her echoes couldn't place exactly what it was. His face didn't show an expression of annoyance or irritation, and he gave no move to tug away. There was almost a subtle flicker of worry, and he kept his arm and hand unnaturally rigid. Maybe he had a bad arm and she had grabbed him too roughly, but she saw nothing of the sort when he first approached. And there was no flicker of pain in his face. The only thing she could think of was that something else about the contact worried him.

Jensen was nowhere in sight, that could cause her companion to worry, had he noted the body guard. But there seemed to be something else.

Once they were outside, she looked at him, and gave him a somewhat smug look. It was a little bit playful, a little bit proud, and most of it was just filled with relief to have escaped. "To answer the question, yes, I had good reason to leave the auction before it had ended. While it may seem silly to you, I'm dodging my handler, and you just became my escort out of the auction. They get so busy with the shows most of them only know I'm not supposed to leave by myself. No one expects me to recruit help." She couldn't hide the fact she was thrilled she'd come up with the plan. She shrugged at his second question. "I'd seen the way you were looking at most of the items. You didn't show any interest on the items, unless you were just going to act out of impulse. Which wouldn't be surprising with your sort of background... Perhaps you weren't trying anything tonight, you were certainly making notes of different people. A thief knows how to mark someone as a target. I, on the other hand, know how to mark a thief." She was speaking with more confidence than her powers really afforded her. She had been wrong in the past, and on occasion, her guesses insulted people. But confidence was one of the easiest ways to get someone to confirm suspicions themselves. He hadn't made the mistake to deny what he was doing. So there was some experience in his profession.

But he hadn't made a move to run, which was a bit disconcerting. His arm was still held rather tightly in her own as they moved down the sidewalk, almost like a small challenge for him to try something. She had no idea what could happen if he so much as made a fist.

Jensen would kill her later...

“I think you’re still confused about my job,” David said, looking briefly down at his captive arm. For the first time in his life he wondered how to get a girl to let go of you. He gave a slight chuckle, partially out of amusement of the absurdity of this, partially from the champagne bubbles. “Electronics salesman. Mostly specializing in home entertainment systems.” Once again he was giving Pidge truths. He wouldn’t consider himself a thief. A thief is someone who sneaks in and takes things without asking. What he did was entirely different. He got you to give him what he wanted in exchange for a brief moment of hope. It didn’t matter to him if he never delivered on what he promised. If you were dumb enough to trust a stranger with money then you should be prepared for said cash to vanish. Everyone knows that three card monte is always rigged so that you loose. And it was true that Sledge was a salesman of electronics. He did sell electronic devices, usually out of a van, and they weren’t always the best quality. Truth be told if you bought a pair of speakers from Sledge they didn’t work. Knock off DVD’s were another classic, especially since nobody ever thought to ask if what he was selling was for region one or two. David’s DVD player had no issues playing the discs from the other side of the pond, but the same couldn’t be said of his targets.

“I got to say though, you aren’t the first to call me that. Me brother’s got it worse though. He’s a mechanic. You tell someone that their transmission has flooded and they don’t believe you. All they think is that you’re telling them a pricey repair to gain some extra money.” That wasn’t to say that not all mechanics are honest. David knew that his brother from time to time gave his customers a high estimate, and the cost usually would come under that. Of course his customers thought that they were getting a great deal and didn’t realize that they actually were being ripped off. David thought that it was absolutely brill of Charlie. “And I also am curious as to why you want so badly to get away from your handler. Seems to me that you should just have asked him to step outside with you. Dinnit have to drag me along now did you?”

Great. The assumption that he had been pissing off her boyfriend had been dangerous enough. Now it seemed that he had been provoking something much worse. “Your handler, is he armed? Would like to know if my insurance is going to cover the damages.” He had tried to pass it off as a joke. He could win in a fist fight no problem. Add weapons into the mix and well, David had a thing about bullets. How soon he should get away from Pidge depended upon how badly her handler was going to hurt him. She wasn’t overtly strong, but David didn’t have much weight to him and could be dragged easy enough. He noticed that she had tucked her arm into his in such a way that it looked like this was her idea. In short, he looked like he was kidnapping her, not the other way around.

Evelyn watched him as he spoke, and she was impressed. That didn't mean she believed him though. The key to avoiding getting caught in dishonestly was by avoiding lying, and he was sure succeeding in ensuring this didn't happen. Few people understood the power of the truth. Evelyn had used similar techniques in the past: when her parents asked where she'd been, she said she had gone to the museum. She didn't say when, or how long, or which one, but that was enough for them. The fact she walked into the museum then left straight away didn't matter. It was truth at the time she said it, just as what he said was it's own form of truth now.

"Salesman can be a very ambiguous term, dear. You're not hiding your scent very well in carefully polished truths." She mused breezily. "You're smart, quick thinking, a bit on the scrawny side. You could be a salesman. But even a salesman can be their own sort of conman. Knowing to read someone, how to watch their movements and behaviors lets you lead them where you will." His glances were subtle, but she could tell he was looking for a way to escape the hold she had on his arm. They hadn't gotten far, perhaps a block, but she needed at least another before she let him leave.

So, she delayed and answered his question. "My handler is overbearing. And you could say I've been grounded. Had a cup of coffee with someone he didn't agree of...stepping outside is not the problem. Stepping away is." Her eyes had a little flicker that was somewhat playful, and she laughed at his last question. "Armed, yes, and a fair shot. Handler is much of a loose term. Bodyguard has a nice ring to it as well."

They were closing in on the second block. It was a decent enough head start, and her hold loosened ever so slightly.

"Fine then. I'm not a salesman. I came all the way from West Yorkshire to New York to con people in auction houses," Again, David was taking refuge in the truth. He did take some offense to her comment about his size. Since when did body shape dictate what sort of job someone could have? Alright, so it would be difficult to picture him being a professional rugby player, but salesman certainly sounded plausible to him. "You do realize that I say that only because you refuse to be wrong about anything?" Repetition is a critical part of any con. The more something is reinforced, the more likely it is to be accepted as truth. Or at least that was what David had observed.

"So rather than doing the sensible thing of giving your bodyguard the pink slip, you decided to wander off with a stranger," he said. It wasn't a question, but he did have his one eyebrow raised inquisitively. What a strange, strange little lady was he captured by. "A stranger that you think isn't the sort of person that you should be associating with. Tell me one thing. Is there a history of mental illness in your family?"

When Evelyn's grip on his arm loosened David let out a sigh of relief. Even if he were to use his powers, she was that much safer now. Kind of hard to hold onto a rocket when your grip is like used sticky tape. It wasn't enough that he felt confident in escaping from her, but he could relax his arm slightly. "May I also point out that your little act of rebellion could well lead me to spending a night tucked up at hospital?"

Evelyn has a slight smile on her face at his 'admission'. While he was just trying to play it off as sarcasm, she was learning one thing about him at least: he'd rather tell the truth than lie, because a lie was a more obvious give away. So, picking through his statement, he was probably into some form of conning. Although that wasn't all he did. It was enough, for now. She let the echoes mess with the tidbit and toss it around in her mind.

She smiled a bit too nicely at his comment about wandering off with a stranger. "Strangers are far more fascinating. Just wandering off normally would allow me a level of freedom, but dragging someone along lets me learn a thing or two."

She spoke breezily, and a manner of smugness slipped into her voice. "For instance: I know you have an eye for reading people, and whether you're just a very good salesman or a conman you're perceptive and smart. Yet your body visibly tenses up when someone touches you're arm, you relaxed when I let go a bit, and it isn't necessarily out of distaste, but almost a level of fear. That type of unnatural fear, at least from my experience, tends to revolve around a certain group of individuals. You don't look like a mutant though, nothing visible gives it away, so it must be something more subtle...." Another guess, a shot in the dark to see what she could hit. If he kept his habit up of telling the truth, she would know whether or not she was right.

Her eyes twinkled playfully, and she chuckled at his last question as they reached a cross walk. "My family has no history of mental illness. Besides, if I was forced to describe myself I'd use the term gifted rather than ill." She pulled him towards the crosswalk as traffic froze, waiting for his reactions.

"You know, there is a reason why parents and teachers tell kids to be wary of 'stranger danger'. Even the sweetest person may be a kidnapper, or a murderer. Since you are so certain that having a stranger as an escort is the superior option to asserting your authority as an employer, I can see why you need to have a handler in the first place," David said, pondering what words it would take to sway Pidge away from the truth. Had he grown lax in covering up his tracks? No, because he still was off the police department's radar, and had yet to spent a night in a prison since arriving in New York. His association with the Sanctuary helped with that. Though he may grumble about a lack of information that was provided to him sometimes, the jobs and tasks that David was given did have safety measures put in place. "But what, other than your obvious absolute trust in the ones you say are dangerous, would make you even have a bodyguard in the first place?"

She had complimented him, in a way, on his ability to read people. Given that he had made himself a life out of doing just such a thing it was good to hear. Especially if the one who said it had figured things out so well about him. "Let me guess. You mentioned a studio, which is either a creative place or a studio. The desk would suggest the latter, but your eye for it, and going to an auction would suggest the former. Some sort of artist? You lack fluidity and poetry in your speech patterns, so I'm guessing that music isn't your forte. Not to say you aren't, but I've met my share of musicians. If they're serious enough to have a studio there's this rhythm if they play, and you're words have been too.. Let's say that you speak as though reading off a prompter."

David was taking his time with his analysis for two reasons. The first was to make sure that his accent was kept in check. It was easy for him to become incomprehensible when his accent kicked in at full force, the way it did when he was feeling any emotion particularly strongly. Pidge had set him on an edge, and while he was frightened, he was enjoying the thrill. Secondly, talking at that pace allowed him to put off having to confront her correct assumption that he was a mutant.

Until now he had been hiding within truths, but his mutation was something that David would lie about until his deathbed. Not only was there the risk that such a confession would prevent him from an effortless escape from imprisonment, but the social stigmata that he did not want. If you're poor the world already looks at you as though you are filth. David had lied and tricked his way out of the extreme poverty that had haunted his childhood, sending him to bed with many an empty belly. He would not go back to that look of disgust from anyone. "I don't like anyone touching me anywhere. Do you know how much filth clings to people? To touch is death."

The corner of Evelyn's mouth gave a slight twitch, the smug grin wavering ever so slightly as he spoke. His comment stung like an insult, and the fact he declared she needed a handler hit on a more personal level. She made every effort to be independent and take care of herself; any remark that suggested she couldn't do that managed to get under her skin. "Met a few kidnappers. Serial killers too. They have a type just like a conman, signs and tells. Behavioral patterns are something that can tell you who to look out for and who to target. You're just irritated you're the later; you like holding the cards." True, she had met a serial killer she had not pegged for a kidnapper, but the two fell in the same red alert category, so there was that.

"And you mistaken my actions for being trusting. The fact you're here does not mean I trust you. In fact, based on your profession and general actions you'd seem to be the type of person I'd rather not trust. But trust has nothing to do with your usefulness."

The insults were returned, however, as he remarked on how unlikely it was she was a musician. True, she was not professional, but she liked to think she was fair enough at it and didn't deserve to have her possible talent dismissed so quickly. She felt better when he at least lingered on the possibility she was an artist; art was, in fact, one of the few things that genuinely made her happy. "I'd like to think my speech gets the point across. As for my studio, it may very well have the artistic flavor to it. Yet I'd hate to get paint on such an elegant piece."

His voice seemed tense, like he was trying to be careful with his speech, and she momentarily wondered what would happen if his full accent slid into the conversation. She wasn't sure her echoes would be able to help much at that point. The tension could come from another angle, however: he avoided the subject of mutants entirely. Something that wasn't a truth and wasn't a lie was most certainly a cover up. "I find that hard to believe from someone that has a habit of wearing hats. The slight skin tone difference where it would rest, the natural parting of your hair... Not something you'd wear to the auction, I suppose. But a hat gets washed little, collects dirt and dust and sweat, gets set on tables, picks up germs and is deposited right above your eyes, your nose, your mouth... if you're so concerned about germs, I think that would be worth reconsidering."

She loosened her hold even more, just barely holding on enough to finish the conversation. "But I can understand why you'd hide from what you are. Society isn't always kind to those who are different. It doesn't take much perception to know to be careful." They were far enough away, she would have a fair head start towards home before Jensen caught up. Finally, she released his arm and gave a curtsey that had a small bit of sass to it.

"Thank you for obliging to escort me, sir. I hope you found the conversation enlivening."

"I've never enjoyed having the spotlight shone on me," David told her. How much of that truth was based upon his career choice was debatable. The only reason why he had first started his criminal activities was because he didn't like standing out in his worn out school uniform. Maybe that really was the reason why he didn't like the focus on him that Pidge was showing. It seemed like all his life he had been trying to trick someone, to make people believe that he fit in with the others. He wouldn't admit to his mutation because he did not want that one more thing to segregate himself. David frowned, not enjoying having to do some self reflection. The last time he had done that he didn't like what he saw.

Pidge had touched on another sensitive subject, his hats. Instinctively David touched the back of his head, as though to adjust the angle of a fedora that wasn't there. "I'm British luv, and no matter what you may think of me, my parents raised me to be a gentleman." Not that they would say a gentleman plays poker to blackmail politicians, or that they join an underground fighting ring just to eat scraps. Besides which, he used his hats for more than just keeping his head dry in the rain. "Now wait just a second, I keep me hats very clean. Or did you think a man who wears one regularly would be lackadaisical on the care of it?"

Her grip loosened even more until finally his arm was free and David could breathe proper again. Pidge curtsied, and David gave serious thought to running like a bat freed from hell. Yes, he thought seriously about it for a half a second before disregarding it. To run would be to say that he was, indeed, guilty of what she had accused him of. "Enlivening or enlightening? Either way I do believe that you still owe me your name. Also, what sort of gentleman would me Da have raised if I did not see you safely home?"

Evelyn watched his facial expressions carefully. It was revealing in its own way of his emotions and inner conflict. Something in the frown and the lines that appeared on his forehead when he voiced he'd rather stay out of the spotlight seemed to be less of a professional choice and more of a personal concern. The attention made him uncomfortable. He wasn't super well built, and while he was fairly good looking much of that was built into his confidence and the way he managed to present himself. He could have easily been picked on as a kid, or pushed around. Confidence was something you could learn with time, but that underlying self-consciousness flickered through. But why admitting he was a mutant was part of that defense seemed backwards compared to most. Some found their strength in their mutations. Perhaps he felt ashamed of his?

The echoes continued to pick it apart as his hand instinctively went for a hat that wasn't there. She was right on one account at least. A small smile trailed across her lips and she just chuckled at his reaction, giving no response. The manner in which he kept his hats mattered little to her.

The moment she let go, she could see the slight twitch in his stance as he considered running, but he stayed, which was a point towards the image he was trying so hard to maintain. Guilty though he was, he was trying to maintain appearances. She pushed her hair from her face as he asked her name, and smirked. "Names Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." She spoke, voice dripping with sarcasm before it faded and she turned to leave, shooting a glance over her shoulder.

"Actually, it's Evelyn. And I can walk myself home, thank you for the offer though." She willed him not to follow as she started down the sidewalk. She had been hoping for the running away reaction but something was telling her he wasn't just going to leave at this point. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or irritated.

"I take it that burly fellow was Watson?" David joked. Holmes's reference wasn't lost on him. Before he got tangled up in cons the easiest way for him to escape his surroundings and to keep himself entertained was to spend the day in the public library. "Which would make me Professor Moriarty?" he joked, taking off that curst suit jacket. What difference did it make if Evelyn thought she knew what he was like? He had done nothing wrong lately, and he could always find a way to trick her should she get a whiff of something. Even Conan Doyle's creative mastermind had subjects in which he had to defer to someone with greater knowledge.

With the jacket off David felt more like himself. Yes he liked to dress sharply, but you can only take being stuffy so long before you simply must change out of what you are wearing. The night's air was cooler than that in the auction house, but not so much as to make him wish that he kept the jacket on. "Dear Holmes, please realize that I have to walk you home at this point," David pointed out with a frown. Something still wasn't right. Ah yes, he had his hair smoothed nicely against his head. One quick shake through with his fingers was enough to get the brown mop to it's usual unruly state. Now he was feeling more like the David Maxwell that caught the ladybirds' eyes. "Iffin something should happen to you and I'm not there, it would kill me."

He dropped the playful tone which he had been using while bantering with her. "No. It would literally kill me. I don't think that your Watson was too fond of me just standing near you. Seeing as I'm the last bloke 'e saw you with..." David trailed off. Of course he couldn't be sure that her bodyguard even would be able to find him. After all, he was just one more sardine that had been packed into that tin. However, David hadn't gotten to this point in his life by ignoring possible threats, even distant ones.

Evelyn gave a slow smile at his remarks, but it had a more playful undertone that she doubted would be missed by her companion. "He does have a habit of being the voice of reason I often ignore, but all things considered, he doesn't quite fit the Watson persona." She purred airily. She chuckled at his next remark.

"As for you being Professor Moriarty, I have yet to find your involvement in my life significant enough to warrant the namesake. Your nature, whether criminal or not, does not concern me. It's merely an amusement to try to understand others, and I have no intention of doing anything with the information I find. Many people regard the Professor as Holmes' nemesis, yet that is a more modern twist on the stories." She cut off her sentence, the echoes shoving additional information to the tip of her tongue and making it difficult to stay on topic. The last thing she needed was to recite the entire collection.

Regaining her composure, she glanced at him once more. It was obvious he wasn't running now. The tables were beginning to turn, and she took a right, starting down a side street away from home. David had shed his jacket, and was beginning to look more in his element. "True, Jensen would be rather cross if something happened. But that's assuming something would. I'm wandering to a bookstore, not the maffia's headquarters." She said, a slight whine slipping into her voice. In truth, she had only just decided her destination. But wherever she went, she doubted anything dramatic would enfold.

“One should generally listen to the voice of reason,” David pointed out to Evelyn, “That’s why there is reason in the first place. To, you know, follow it rather than blunder along.” He liked reason. You could make effective predictions and assumptions based upon a path of reason. For her to not want to listen to the voice of reason made no sense to him. Hadn't she been using reason and logic to figure out all she had so far this evening? “Reason keeps you safe, which is probably why he was hired to watch over you in the first place.”

Evelyn’s knowledge of Sherlock Holmes wasn't limited to what anyone with a telly could report. Everyone knew that Holmes had his constant companion of Watson. What’s more is that if you knew the names, you might know of the theory that only one was male. Moriarty wasn't nearly as well known. “Glad you got my reference. Sometimes it seems like I'm the only one who bothers to read these days.” The library was by default a quiet place, but with the invention of computers and iPods the building was usually devoid of people, minus the occasional student having to do research for a paper, or satiating the need to study in solitude. He could easily feel as though he was the only man left on earth. One could expect more noise inside of a tomb.

“And I’m going to assume that it wasn't you who hired him. If it had been you, there wouldn't be any reason for you to pull this sort of stunt. As your employee he would be obligated to follow orders. Even with a rebellious streak you would be able to terminate him.” The tables had turned, and now it was David’s turn to prod at Evelyn and make logical assumptions based upon his own observations. “Iffin it wasn't you, then it was probably your parents or some other guardian figure.” In spite of her insistence that she would be fine, David continued to walk with Pidge. He had played the role of questioned suspect long enough with her that he wanted to indulge in this moment. “And you never know what kind of trouble can happen in a bookstore.”

His comment irked her a bit, and Evelyn tried not to grumble back. It would be easier to listen to the voice of reason if it wasn't so...boring? Confining... She felt caged all the time. She didn't feel like always being safe would ever teach her anything. "I just think sometimes he can be a bit too protective, and that makes it hard to listen when he's right. It's like 'the boy who cried wolf' syndrome. The more he worries about the danger, the harder it is to listen to his concern." It was probably silly to tell this to this stranger, but after her own interrogation, answering a few questions seemed fair. "And keeping me safe is only part of his job. Keeping me out of the way is the other part. My family isn't exactly friendly to mutants." She remarked lightly.

As the conversation shifted back to Sherlock Holmes her smile returned a bit, and Evelyn chuckled slightly. "Even if they read sometimes people only know the basics about Sherlock. However, since he is my favorite character I try to stay well versed in his stories." She stopped herself from going more in depth. That form of conversation may be too much of an invitation for him to continue walking with her. Which, she was still trying to deter him from doing.

Then he turned the tables, and started analyzing her. Her mouth wrinkled slightly into a grimace. "He was my parents idea. When I was younger it seemed reasonable enough. But I detest being treated like a child for the rest of my life. Whatever trouble could happen--be it bookstore or elsewhere--I'm sure I can handle on my own." There was a sort of defiance about it, but perhaps there was also a level of ignorance. She assumed she could handle whatever happened, because nothing had proved otherwise.

"Surely a clever lass like yeh self can remember what happened at the end of the boy who cried wolf," David said. He paid attention to those fables and fairytales as a kid. One of his favorite subjects to read about back then had been Greek and Roman mythology. Then he had started to grow up and those morals offered by Aesop became less important to him than tactics and strategies. To get anywhere in his gang he had to make sure that his position was unquestionable. Best way to do that, he figured, was to make himself the leader of them. He had to have a head for leadership. "Only I don't think it's Watson who's going to end up being gobbled. As I said, you're too trusting."

Now that was something that he never thought he would say. His entire business depended upon trust, particularly people being too trusting of him. He generally used every possible tactic to get his mark to trust him without doubt, and David wasn't ashamed at all about that. In fact he would damn well boast that he excelled in it. Yet here he was, chatting with a bird who he could easily target for more than a few types of scams, and telling her that she should question things. It went against everything he had learned about running a con.

Her bodyguard wasn't to blame for his actions. Or at least, he wasn't as large a factor as you would think a man with a gun and good aim would be. There were ways to handle such a complication, and that was all that David was going to label it as, you just had to be clever enough to think of them. Evelyn had captured his attention, but as of that night, he had no interest in what he could get from her, other than a boost to his already inflated ego. "Do you think that maybe part of the reason why you're treated that way is because of your actions?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

He'd never gone to university for anything, much less for psychology, but he'd heard enough on those daytime shows, and read enough in the papers to get a sense of where the blame fell in the states. Either the parents did not care to be a part of their child's life, the impression you would get by her statement that her family wanted her out of the way, or that there was an issue with the child themself. Hiring a bodyguard tended to lean both ways, but her insistence that Watson was holding her back made him think that there was a little bit of the latter to blame here. "If you keep doing this sort of thing, your cage will only get smaller. After all, trust works both ways. The villagers had trust that the boy would cry wolf only when there was danger, but that boy had to trust that they would come to save him when the wolf was there. Iffin I may use your earlier example."