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“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.”

Sledge really did have his attention on Seyta, even if he was trying to start a small fire. Proof of that was the way that he watched her free herself from what, he imagined, could not have been comfortable shoes. Once more he was appreciative of how these Yanks decided to wear costumes for Halloween. The gents were either lazy with their costumes, much like he had been, or they went for something that would be considered crude any other day of the year. As for the ladies... well, it was probably for the best the holiday came around only once a year, or else his mum and da would have objected to every girl he had ever shown interest in.

"Alright, a dream. Are we talking about a literal one or a figurative one?" he asked, his gaze lingering on those boots long enough that his lighter burnt his thumb a little. Sledge quickly dropped the curst thing and, following basic instinct, stuck the injured digit in his mouth. The act was so natural that he did not think of how he was now sucking his thumb in front of the girl he had been trying to chat up for so long.

"And in this dream you had a knife because..." he trailed off once the worst of the sting had subsided. She wasn't boring him with the topic of dreams, but he did want to know why, of all things, she wanted a knife for Christmas. Something told him that this wasn't a special kitchen knife, guaranteed to stay sharp, even if you cut raw meat with it. Seyta didn't strike him as that domesticated a lady. Probably because he had seen inside of her refrigerator. They say that you can tell alot about a lady by the contents of her purse. Sledge would argue that what she shopped for said more

"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."

“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.

“I can see what your tell is,” David said, glancing behind him at the man who had started to look like he wanted to stuff the Brit into a small cupboard. Alright he had been staying close to Pidge, but he hadn’t done anything to her other than engage in some playful banter. David hadn’t even laid a hand on the girl. “You want to win don’t you. Iffin you aren’t sure of an answer, you try to piece together the little bits, like you’re working on a puzzle without the picture to guide you.” She didn’t need to answer him verbally, for her raising the bid. Again, she was trying to get the last point to be hers. Then she threw emphasis on the word “mark”

Rookie lie mistake number one, outright deny whatever someone accuses you of. Make them think that they were mistaken without telling them that they were right in the first place. Saying that you did not do something instantly cast suspicion that you did. He could play it cool, act as if he had completely missed her last comment. Doing so would be out of character for how the rest of their time together had been going. Could go with a lie, but the girl was smart. Instead David looked at her, confusion playing across his face. Time for the British approach. “Pardon?” he asked. His confused look was authentic, and rather than being frightened or nervous, he was enjoying the girl’s insight.

What had he done to suggest he was any different than the rest of the crowd in the auction house? David had made bids, mingled, enjoyed a glass of champagne earlier. Ever since the bank job he had been laying pretty low, going more for gathering information from his network than actually doing something immoral or illegal. And yes, he was gaining some insight as to whom he could pursue the pockets of , but honestly, he had come here for pleasure mostly. He had a collection of maps and atlases. When looking for an older one, pawn shops and auction houses seemed to be the best option. Nothing of the sort was on the bid list this night.

Sledge raised an eyebrow at the horror movie thing. It wasn't as though he was against a little child seeing a scary movie. Every child should, in his opinion, sneak into a film at one point or another in their life, provided it wasn't an adult film. That was one of the residual good behaviors that his parents had managed to get him to keep. Mature audiences only when people were scantily clad. What caught his interest was how this little girl who, for months now, had played the role of the devil, issuing out commands, had to have someone go with her to avoid risk of killing someone.

"Yeh're too young to play the role of grim reaper," Sledge said, still taken back a little by the thought of Kaitlyn killing anyone. He had not, thankfully, ended anyone's life with his fists, but the risk of it weighed heavily on him. Having someone's blood on your hands was a heavy burden to carry, something that no kid should have. If it was something that adults should avoid, then it ought to be well beyond the realm of possibility for a girl Kaitlyn's age.

It struck him that he should say something to Kaitlyn, something about how the world was a violent place. Offer her some sort of hope that there were good people out there. The problem was that there wasn't as many as there needed to be. Hell, he wasn't a good guy. His form of charity was having a few bucks in his back pocket that young pickpockets could lift. Even this network of informants that he was setting up wasn't entirely giving freely. His informants were expected to obey his orders. If they did so, he provided things for them.

And he wasn't going to sugarcoat things for Kaitlyn. Being a member of the Order meant that she was exposed to more than other girls her age. She wasn't beyond the turning point where she could be what society called "good". However, it was her choice of how much to take out of life. "Hnm," he grunted, waving off the need to give Kaitlyn an adult to child conversation. The butter was starting to sizzle, and he returned his attention to the process of making his sandwich.