Caps For Sale

[puddledancer]

((OOC: Will match format if you're not feelin' prosey!))

The kitschy stall sits at one of the busiest corners of the city. No one knows how he's managed to keep it there for so long without being ousted by more ... er, lucrative ... businesses, but P.J.'s Emporium and its owner have been a questionable adornment on the street for a couple of years now. The racks are filled with old used issues of comic books and pages with ads featuring hero memorabilia, preserved in plastic bags against sheets of cardboard cut from produce boxes or reused manila folders. There are toys and figurines, too: cheap plastic or tin knock-offs of the city's heroes - you know the sort.

The eponymous owner, Peter Jason "P.J." Quill, can always be found sitting in a lawn chair in front of or beside his booth, reading a magazine or comic book, oldies music drifting up from a static-y radio chained to the leg of the booth. That band t-shirt he's sporting has seen better days, and the hems of his shorts are fraying. The soles of his canvas tennis shoes are starting to come detached. Clearly the money from that merch is going to rent and not too much else.

Once in a while he'll wet his whistle from a gallon jug of Country Time Lemonade and holler into the metropolitan abyss... "HERO MERCH, GET YER HERO MERCH HERE! I got'cher Pyrite Man, I got The Sheriff, E.T., Corporal Anglo-Saxon! Brand new Princess Lighting! Pretty sweet stuff, come check it out!"

Familiar faces on their way to work or coffee runs will get a broad grin, a tip of the head, and a "Hey, how are ya?" Otherwise, he has two modes: selling and slacking, and not much in between.

Comments

[no_applause]

Padme doesn't generally pay any attention to the sidewalk hawkers. She wasn't going to waste her time looking at knock-offs and stolen goods. But she couldn't help but stop and turn, blinking in shock at the man.

"Princess... lightning....?"

[puddledancer]

"Uh, Lighting, actually," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "They sent me a bunch of typoed packages. I'm still trying to get my money back. Kinda hard to do when their timezones are on the other side of the world, you know?"

He picked up the package and held it up for inspection. "Not bad, though, right? Looks just like her, y'know. We went on a date once. But don't tell anyone."

[no_applause]

She can't help it. She steps up and takes the figure from him. It doesn't look anything like her! She looks absolutely horrified. She's so stunned that she can't even stop herself before she mutters, "No, you didn't. And these are awful. Do people really buy these things?"

[puddledancer]

The muttered comment makes him squint, trying to figure out what she said. Before he has enough time to rub the brain cells together until they spark, she goes on the attack, and he blinks, eyes wide, holding up his hands.

"Whoa, whoa, hey! This is a man's living you're talking about here, lady! Yeah. Yeah, as a matter of fact they do! Not everyone can afford super detailed stuff at - pssh, what is it now? Ten bucks a pop? I had a mom buy her kid one of everything for Christmas last year. I'm doing a service to the common man, here. You're welcome, even."

[kyley_b]

"Corporal Anglo-Saxon." It is not actually possible to sound more dryly amused. The fellow stopped and studying P.J.'s wares has a business suit on, but the effect of being put-together is somewhat ruined by the fact that his hair is out of control.

"That's pretty great. You got any crappy knock-offs of the speedy one?"

[puddledancer]

Hair was nothing, clothes made the man. And those clothes said money.

"Hey, for you, my man? I'm sure I do. Hang on a second." He abandoned his magazine - an issue of Hot Rod Monthly that was at least a few months old, and possibly from his own sale rack - and began to rifle through his stock.

"Yeah, here he is. Hotfoot." He pulled out a packaged figure - something that could barely be registered as a person for all the plastic muscles that had more green suit than flesh-color on it. "I think I might have a blue variant, too. They're both mint on card."

The fact that they had been crappy knockoffs was either blatantly ignored or wisely not acknowledged.

[kyley_b]

Kyle grinned, delighted. "That thing sucks," he said. "It's perfect. I'll take it."

He dug for his wallet, still looking pleased. "Tell me honestly: do people actually buy these? I mean, I guess kids would."

[puddledancer]

He laughed, glad that someone could appreciate good irony in cheap counterfeit hero toys. The comics behind them, for what it was worth, were genuine - he put his money into the stuff that would actually age well.

"Oh yeah. The bodega and dollar store crowd, they love 'em. Lets 'em give their kids hero toys to play with without breaking the bank around Christmas and birthdays and Kwanzaa or whatever." He gives a lopsided grin and hauls up a battered receipt book and a lockbox from underneath a crate of comics. "I also occasionally get well-meaning old aunts and grandpas who only know their favorite family kid is into 'that one in the gold tights' and wanna grab something on their way to a visit. ... Three bucks."

[on_repeat]

Echo's been here before. Several times, in fact. All it takes is reading the details of the order to know who he's delivering to.

Sure, wearing the helmet and his tactical backpack with his athletic gear looks strange, but he doesn't really think about it when he's already walking up to the stall with a bag in hand. "Seriously man, isn't this a dangerous spot to park?"

[puddledancer]

Look, when you find a guy who can bring you a grilled cheese with tomato and bacon fast enough that it's still hot by the time you open the bag, you keep him in your roster for life.

"Honestly, ever since I got in good with the butcher a block over for giving his daughter free toys, I haven't had a problem." P.J. grins at him. "Mr. Draxo knows that if he hears any kinda commotion he just needs to grab a cleaver and walk over here. Guy his size with a knife like that pretty much discourages any jackasses. ... Six fifty-seven, yeah? Lemme grab you a ten outta the lockbox. Got some new comics in, grab one of those too if you see any you like."

[on_repeat]

There's a laugh as Echo pushes the visor up and nods, holding the delivery out once Quill gets the cash. "Oh yeah? Not bad at all." He believes him because he's seen the butcher, but even big guys have soft sides to them. "You're a thoughtful guy, Quill."

His brow lifts. "New comics? Well, I don't see why not..." He's been reading a lot more than usual, so why not try something that's not tomorrow's news?

[puddledancer]

"The one in the front of that box, there? Vagrant Kids? That one's easy to pick up if you've never read it, it's still pretty new. These kids, their parents are all supervillains and they find out and decide to stop them, it's pretty cool."

He waves off the thoughtful comment as he's unearthing his lunch. "Psssh. Next time someone calls me dumb I'm pointing them your way."

[wearingthestars]

Billy's a pretty frequent visitor to the stall, slowing on his bike and offering a small wave as he approaches.

"Hey- I got donuts," he offers, setting a bag in Peter's lap, a regular ritual by now. "You got anything good this week?" he asks, scanning the racks hopefully. "Hey- you'll never guess who I met-"

[puddledancer]

"Donuts?" He eyes the grease spots dotting the bottom and knows that they're fresh, which can only mean they came from one place. "H'awwwh, you're the best, Billy. Hang on a sec..."

The kid's been on his good side for a long time, and whenever he gets fresh comics into his rotation, he cherry-picks. Ducking underneath the plastic tablecloth that covers most of his set-up, he slides a cardboard comic box out and pulls the first two. THey're nowhere near mint, but they're still legible, and if they were mint there'd be no way either of them would have their hands on them.

"I think a bag of fresh donuts is worth at least a Magic Man #25."

[wearingthestars]

"I try," Billy grins easily, and looks excitedly to see what Peter's got to offer him. He doesn't care about mint so long as he can read 'em. He dreams about being able to be one of the those collectors, obviously, but for now- he just wants to read everything he can get his hands on.

"Sweet, I don't have that one. Definitely." As if Peter didn't know about 90% of his collection by heart at this point. "I met Captain America. Like...real and in the flesh, and not at some convention. It was so cool."

[puddledancer]

He may or may not have started keeping notes on what Billy had - him, and a few other kids in the neighborhood. He may not have the bankroll of someone like Din Djarin or Tony Stark, but you don't have to be rich to look out for your people.

"Wait, seriously?! Get the heck outta town with that, man!" P.J.'s jaw drops in a broad grin. "How'd you manage that? I need details!"

[ezra_of_lothal]

Ezra almost walks right past him. The 'range' on his currently very limited mental abilities is a frustratingly tiny radius. But he does catch on, right before he moves too far for the unfamiliar psychic impression to fade from his awareness. So he turns around and back up to stare a second.

"You feel real," he says, aware that almost certainly sounds utterly insane. "But I don't know you at all. Are new people just being dropped here?"

He probably shouldn't even be surprised.

[puddledancer]

"Yeah, I keep it real," he agrees, holding out a hand for a sideways five.

He's no stranger to the city's crazies of all varieties: addicts, winos, war-scarred vets, the homeless woman who walks around in the giant stuffed hat shaped like a cheeseburger. He's learned that rolling with it can lead to some pretty interesting conversations that pass the time on slow days, and occasionally he'll wind up having Echo deliver some food to split with the Daily Crazy while they talk.

So far, none of them have made the observation that P.J. Quill is probably doing so badly at business because he's feeding half the neighborhood's vagrants. It's better that way, he doesn't have to blow them off and lie, and his cool-guy persona remains pretty much intact.

"No one's dropped me anywhere, dude, I've been here a few years. But hey, not a problem, right? I'm P.J. Nice to meetcha."

[ezra_of_lothal]

Ok. High five, he knows what that is, thank you memories of a life here in the City; he meets it with an only somewhat awkward amount of momentum behind his hand.

"Hey, P.J. I'm Ezra," he greets, with an easy smile. "If you've been here a while, where you were you before?" he prods.

[mrsklover]

Richie, fresh off the rescue of a bank and no richer for it, stumbles upon PJ's corner and smirks. Hard at work, he sees. Richie shakes his head in fond exasperation and walks over with his notepad already out and his pen doing a rough sketch of PJ asleep behind his stand as Richie starts stealing figurines. Underneath it he writes:

I can see business is going real well. Think you will be able to buy actual shoes soon?

[puddledancer]

He's momentarily startled when Richie thrusts the notepad into his field of vision, disrupting his vintage-car-ogling, but recovers well, managing not to tip the chair backwards and fall on his ass this time.

"Ha, ha, smart guy." He raises his eyebrows, reaching up for a high-five in greeting. "I sold three whole figures today, so I might at least get some new flip-flops from the Arabic dude on 9th. What about you? How many days have you been coma-induction free? We close to breaking the record?"

[mrsklover]

Richie rolls his eyes and flips PJ off in response to the whole 'coma' comment. He might be a little more testy than normal because, nope. No record.

I put a whole bank to sleep so it's time to flip the 'Incident Free' days back to zero. But I stopped a robbery, so that's good?

He picks up a figure of Pyrite Man and scratches at the paint with his thumbnail, expecting to to come flaking off without much effort.

[stitch_witch]

She approaches slowly, drawn by the latest shout of the merchant. Seeing stalls such as this is no strange thing to her, for all that the city is strange. When she approaches she investigates the display of goods. Never before had she seen something like them before, something that wasn't metal, wasn't stone, wasn't wood. How interesting. She reaches out and touches the one of Pyrite Man. How strange. Meanwhile she lets her power reach out, weaving into the fibers of his shorts and coaxing the threads to mend the hem of his shorts, to render them more secure.

It was interesting, if she was honest, that her magic here didn't seem to have the same limits she had felt on Agra 10. And the more she used them here, the more they grew. It was interesting and strange all at once.

"Tell me, sir, should I recognize these figures you sell?"

[puddledancer]

He didn't notice her subtle magic, but he sure would later when he got undressed for the night, and wonder what the hell had happened. At the time, all he saw was a pretty girl taking interest in his stuff, which automatically made his day a billion times better even without the surprise clothing patch-up.

"Psh, sir, please. Call me P.J. And I dunno, maybe some? I know not everyone's into superheroes. That one's Pyrite Man, he's the bodyguard for a rich scientist. Course, there are plenty of theories that he really is the rich scientist, but if he were, he would've admitted it by now, the guy's got an ego the size of the city park."

[stitch_witch]

"That's quite the tale to tell," Lark mused, touching the figure before leaving it aside. Not as interesting as it could be.

"Children love stories of heroics. Though I've found that it's not often the rich they wish to hear the stories of."