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The mental challenge that Pidge presented was giving David something much more important to him than a quick money fix. Or at least it was more valuable for right now. Thinking through her responses had him try to sort out what was mere fluff at what had substance. The point that she now argued was that Doyle was miserable when he wrote what was popular with his followers. If they were still using their respective authors as a code for themselves Pidge was saying she was miserable doing what was expected of her. “That’s the risk that all authors face when they become public. You can hardly write the next great novel and expect the readers to not weigh in their opinion, and it won’t always reflect what you want. My point was that Doyle was too cold, too technical with his Holmes. Made it hard for me to invest much in his writing, no matter if it was his most famous novels or something else. I druther have characters that I feel an emotional attachment to.”

As they were given their drinks of choice, straight coffee for David, the question at last was about himself. Or at least she wanted to know about Bradford. Once more his mind was challenged, though not because of finding a double meaning. She had wanted to know what was so special about his hometown, and in all honesty, David didn’t think that there was anything. At least there was nothing about it that would be of interest to her. “What’s Bradford got? Wool and accents.” He didn’t care for his hometown because of what it had in it. The only things that actually had any importance to him back in England weren’t technically things. He may resent the way that his parents slaved away, how there was never enough of anything as a child, but they were still his Mum and Da. Anna had been his first love, or at least first serious one.

He frowned at his coffee, thinking too much once more about his hometown. Had he never gained a mutation, where would he be now? Kept in a prison? Joining the blue collar working force like the rest of his family? His mutation was something that he never wanted, but had it not happened he would have been in a life that did not suit him. New York was infinitely better than Bradford. “The largest claim to fame that Bradford can boast was it’s importance to the industrial revolution. Seems to me that nothing has changed since then.”

The man whom was most likely the proper owner of the wheelchair continued to harass Sledgehammer. David could understand the man’s upset, but could not see why he continued to call him less than flattering names in regards to his physical appearance. The problem though was that each insult was based upon a weight that David did not have. He was not large by any means. Why was the man making his way into the wheelchair continuing with this line? It was utter ridiculousness, and with the conviction that the mistaken fool spouted these words had effectively gotten David to stay where he was. For now his mission was halted. “I think you need your eyes checked,” David said, not able to stop himself from staring at the daft apeth.

Why was this man even going around the city in a less than winter friendly wheelchair? The thinner wheels would get stuck in snow of any substantial thickness, and clearly it had balance issues. It struck David as being a wiser plan of action to stay inside on a day like today, especially if you were going to be having difficulties going about the city anyways. The part of David that enjoyed having fun in life would have been more than happy to stay tucked up in his flat with a cup of coffee, reading through the newspaper. However the work addicted side of him forced him out of the warm comforts of his home and into this slush infested city. There were reports to collect from his informants, and ensuring that the currently missing one knew his place.

Hands were removed from the wheelchair as the apeth started to climb up into it. David had done his good dead of the day. Well, of sorts. It wasn’t as though he had actually stopped and helped the other man both off the ground and into the chair. All he had done is right the item that had been in his way. In all honesty he had briefly considered grabbing it for something. You could never be sure when something came in handy. The Dick Tracy comment went over his head though. The dirty cop had not reached the level of popularity in Bradford that it had in the states, and when the movie had been released David’s entertainment came from the library. “Lars? What is that even suppose to mean?” he asked, wondering if this was sort of Yanks slang that he wasn’t going to understand.

“Now hold on a minute,” David said, aware that he had pressed one of Pidge’s buttons a little too hard. She may have been irked with the conversation that they were having, but he was finding it to be entertaining. He needed a challenge every now and then, and as of late his marks had proven to be easier to play than a triangle. Knowing that Pidge had a body guard that was armed was enough of a deterrent to keep David from trying to liberate some funds from her, but he still wanted to see what he could get out of her. “Playbacks? Echos? You’ve lost me. What is it that you do?” Common tactic for him whenever things started going sour. People generally were able to open up more when the subject had become about them. Additionally he really needed to have some understanding of how the girl’s powers worked. He managed to find a way to turn the bank investigation off of him by using the psychometric powers to cast doubt. A person may be able to see into the past, but that did not mean that they were going to be able to comprehend the sight of his powers in action.

Young Miss Evelyn questioned his ability to predict how people would act. Now it was his turn to be miffed. If he wasn’t good at it, real good, how would he be out walking the streets this night? Police would have had enough evidence that they could have held him in jail for more than just the night it took Charlie to get bail together when he was a kid. Had that been the case he probably wouldn’t have discovered his powers in the first place. Saying as much though would admit more to Pidge than he cared to divulge. His job might not be the most honorable, but David took pride in what he did, and he knew that he was good at it. “I thought that I wasn’t one to take risks,” was all that he said in response. It was neither an admitance nor a denial of what he did.

The bodyguard approached them, looking none to please with either of them. David gave Watson a broad smile, and glanced at Pidge. She wasn’t happy with him, and the proximity of her bodyguard had sunk her into a deeper funk. His gaze softened and David took pity on her. Time to use that wicked mind and silver tongue of his for some good. “Evening. Hope you don’t mind my borrowing Ms. Evelyn. We got on the subject of British literature.” At this point David turned his attention to Pidge, continuing a conversation that had not really existed. “You may be fond of Doyle, but my preference will always be for Mr. Tolkien.” It was a hint for Pidge about the meaning behind the gold ring that hung around his neck, and a subtle hint as to what he wanted her to play along with. If her observational powers and capabilities of assumption were as good as she boasted she should pick up on how he was trying to take the heat off. Once more he turned towards the bodyguard. “Thank you. I haven’t had such a good debate since Bradford. Would it be alright if we continued? Ms. Evelyn did seem interested in Yorkshire life.”

“I do put value in the past, but it does me no good to know why Uncle Jack gave little Lucy that copy of A Child’s Garden of Verses. It was their own personal affair, and why would it make any difference to anyone? You learn a little bit of their family history, but it is theirs. History is valuable when the information you get from it can be put to use.” Probably why the only history that held much interest for David was the one had applications to life. Learning how this country came to be came in handy for becoming an official citizen, one he managed to get a travel visa that would pass close inspection. Studying the history of war and battles allowed him to plan tactics. “Dinnit you find it annoying in school when they insisted on teaching you a subject you found absolute rubbish? You look as though you wouldn’t be much for PT.”

That bit was a shot in the dark. Call it cliché, but often if people were bookish, which it was safe to say that Pidge was, they weren’t much for intense physical activity. Add to that her less than amazing social graces. Those that did enjoy physical sports didn’t want to bother with someone who wasn’t personable. She wouldn’t be the kind that you would want to be on a team. As she had said, he was in fact, not fond of uncalculated risks. If he was going to state something about this girl who was practically a stranger to him, he was going to go with what his instincts told him.

Her instincts were telling her that he was a fighter. “When you’re a smaller guy like meself you have to assert yourself. Some blokes just need a little more inspiration to take the cotton out of their ears.” He said it casually, as if she had asked him what he thought about the evening news reporters. Just because he was a fighter didn’t mean that David was a professional of it. His method of fighting was unrefined, filled with using his elbows, punches, kicking, whatever it took to give him a bit of room. “Intellectually, it’s not a matter of being challenged. I have a tendency to draw in idiots.”

She mentioned the ring that he wore around his neck, and he raised an eyebrow at her. The ring hung there all the time, and he forgot about it more often than not. It did have meaning, though not the one that people were so quick to give it in England. “So you caught that did you? Care to puzzle out the importance of it? After all, you do seem to be fond of putting meaning to otherwise meaningless trinkets.”

“What is the point though of having something that is so fragile for a bit of family history?” David asked Evelyn, switching which one of his hands carried his jacket, “You’re also facing something that can’t be displayed easily for something so small. Some of us here in New York don’t have a luscious studio to showcase our first editions.” History didn’t interest David as much, at least not the anthropological aspect of it. He didn’t question why people gave a book to someone, or who had held onto that antique sword. What he wanted to know was why this strategy had succeeded, why Custard had failed, how boundary lines had changed throughout the years. “Best to look for something smaller I’d say. Smaller, easier to display, and less prone to degrading.”

Not that he was much to boast on that last point. Maps were as likely to fall apart as books, if not more so. Books were a luxury when they first were printed oh so many years ago. People were more likely to keep them as a treasure than a map. Maps were folded up, rolled, crumpled, torn, and used more frequently. A book’s spine can only be broken once, but a map could be ripped many more times. At least with his antique of choice you could place it in a frame for ease of display and to keep it safe and secure. “Besides, it was more than just holding onto something for history or monetary purposes. Why would you want a piece of literature that you cannot read without fear of destroying it? Old books loose their glue, pages can rot.”

If her intention had been to purchase anything then this stop into the bookstore had been fruitless. Likewise, if Evelyn had been trying to get away from David, she had been better off with other plans. However if she had been trying to get a little more freedom from her golden cage then she h ad been wildly successful. David hurried out behind Pidge. For now he was going to stay close to her. Even without holding onto his arm he was still her captive. Until he could convince her to go back to the auction house or her home, he needed to stay close to her. Problem was that Pidge didn’t seem to view either as a viable option this evening.

Sledgehammer didn't bother to listen in on the shout to give a New Yorker a hand. For one he had never been keenly aware of the needs of others. He could see it, but that didn’t mean it held any importance to him. There had always been enough worries of his own as a kid, and he resented those that his parents had been charitable towards. Wasn’t enough that they had a kid to take care of? Shouldn’t they devote their extra food or time towards the one in their house with the empty belly first? If they weren’t going to prioritize their child over their neighbors, then David was just going to have to watch out for himself. The self centered approach to life wasn’t the only reason why David didn’t recognize that he was the one being commanded. Someone was always shouting in the city. The sound had become a part of the background noise to him.

He had considered moving the wheelchair out of the side but something caught his attention. David was very sure that he had just been grabbed on the ankle. It wasn’t his boots pinching him. With his fondness for clothes, David was particular about what he wore. If something did not fit him just so, he would not purchase it. Additionally, these were boots that had been worn throughout all the winter, broken in by this point with his recruitment drive. No, this felt more like a hand had held him. You heard stories about criminals hiding underneath cars and slashing at ladies ankles. Stories only though. In any case David was no young lady in heels, nor was he standing by a car.

Which meant that whatever had snagged him must be on a relatively low level. No babies were crawling around him, which ruled out any small child being to blame. All that he could see down low was a guy lying in the street, far enough away that David couldn’t help but be suspicious and confused. How could the guy have grabbed onto him in the first place. Still, it was the only solution that presented itself, unless someone had laid a hand on him on the run. Being called a “big hunk of lard” also drew a perplexed look from David. Nobody had called him a big hunk of anything. David was rather slim for a man his age. “Pardon?” he asked, righting the wheelchair and keeping a hand on it. A wheelchair could be useful to more than just the invalid.

It was, undeniably, the most that Evelyn had said that night about herself. The lady was quick to go into long theories and explanations of his own behaviors, picking apart the smallest details about him to tell him what he already knew about himself. However, once he turned the tables and did the same thing to her, Pidge balked. She didn’t like having the spotlight turned on her actions any more than David did. Or at least she did not like someone telling her that her rebellion was foolish. Pidge probably wanted him to confirm that her having a bodyguard was foolishness. Instead he was saying that she was the problem. “No, I’m saying that you are too trusting because you are. Because nothing has happened to you, you’ve become complacent, satisfying yourself with the thought that you are safe. Can you really be sure that I will bring you no harm? Or is it just the threat of Watson that keeps me from doing so?”

Evelyn had been correct in saying that it was within his capabilities to hurt her, but had been wrong about it being in his nature. He had a glimpse into a dark future, one in which he took pride in his role as champion in pit fighting. In that dream he wasn’t armed with anything more than his mutation, but that was more than lethal enough. A person’s nature could change drastically when the right moment arises. David shook his head no, knowing full well that he did have a damaging nature. So far there hadn’t been any reason why he should hurt her. “You must not have read the paper a few months ago. A lady and a little girl were brutally assaulted whilst leaving a library. Now if they were killed when leaving a place that doesn’t make money off their books, how is a bookstore any safer?” It was an extreme example of course, but one that had really happened. The story had happened in a city in New York state, which was probably why it didn’t make a difference to the people of New York City. In the New York Times it had been just the smallest of blurbs.

“Let’s say that something does snap. You’re betting that you’ll be given a bit more leash when that happens,” David said. Perhaps it was just his habit of looking out for the worst possibility, but he was already thinking of other outcomes. “Or you might end up not being allowed out of your home at all. I’d say that if you can drop such a pretty penny on a desk, and since your parents are the ones paying for the bodyguard, that you don’t necessarily need to have a job to spend your hours in. Your mum and da might very well decide that if you can’t be trusted with a bodyguard outside the home, that you would have to be confined to inside it.” Before she could argue about her mutation keeping that from happening, David continued on. “Homes use to be built with a confined area for unmentionables, children with physical or mental defects that were hidden away from the outside world. Such children would be forgotten by society.”

They had arrived at the bookstore without any incident other than a debate. Certainly better than him being shot at. You didn’t need to be experienced in reading people to know Evelyn had been here more than a few times. He had never stepped foot into this shop, so he had no clue who the man with the glasses was. Also Mr. Koreander knew not only Evelyn’s name but what she would be looking for as well. David gave the man a polite smile. He wasn’t going to cause any trouble to the book man. “I don’t reckon you would have a copy of Heliodorus of Emesa’s Aethiopica?”