The Price is Right (Blaise Rothschild/Tiz)

[Arthur Vincent]

There was a client waiting for him to arrive at a location outside of the city limit. Arthur was used to taking long trips to appraise, but this one was at least in the same state. Her name was Blaise. Or at least that was the name that he was given over the phone whenever the appointment was scheduled. The gentleman on the other end had said that she would be there to show him the items that the owner would like to auction/sell and that was all the information that he was given other than the address. Fortunately, he didn't need a lot of personal information to appraise historical artwork. That sort of information was not all that important to someone like Arthur.

Pulling into the drive, he parked and stepped out of the rover, brandishing his delicate items kit as he approached the front door. He paused a moment to ensure that he did not look a fright, tightening his tie and smoothing down his coat before he rang the doorbell. Immediately, the door was opened and he was greeted by what he thought to be a butler. Arthur allowed for his coat to be taken before being led into a room and introduced. "Ah, yes. Pleasure to meet you, Miss."

NOTE: I understand that this post took forever, sucks and is a bit on the short side... times have been tough. Here ( https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=233024774 ) is the outfit that this handsome devil is wearing and I hope that I didn't do too terrible. *glares at muse*

[Blaise Rothschild]

Blaise had mixed feelings about the loss of her grandmother, moreso probably than the ones she'd had when her grandfather had passed. Her mother was likely feeling all the more conflicted. Her grandparents had had money, had raised her mother in comfort, but then had done little to assist when their darling daughter went off and married a military man. All the money her mother had, all the prestige, all the honors, had come from her own hard work, It was admireable, but there was a history, too, one that had served only to add pain to an already hard earned life. Blaise respected her grandmother, and her mother, but...her memories of the former were most certainly tainted by the emotions of the latter.

Walking through the sitting room, Blaise's eyes drifted over the antiques, baubles, and fragile nicknacks. She remembered not being allowed to touch anything, and now...now her grandmother had named her executor, and she was responsible through sorting through the mess. Blaise did not know how her mother felt about being skipped, but then, perhaps her grandmother was only concerned that her daughter, as mayor, would not have time for such things. After all, her mother had made it a point more than once not to have time for her mother, or her daughter, more often than not.

Blaise's eyes moved to the door when one of the servants ushered in Arthur Vincent. Blaise recognized him from his picture on the auction house's website. He looked less stuck up in person, not that she was going to say that, though. Blaise moved to greet him, hand extended. "Please call me Blaise. Thank you for coming Mr. Vincent." Blaise's nose twitched ever so slightly. She had not known he was a rat. She actually welcomed the news, the rats were the pard's allies. "As you can see, this house is...filled with goodness knows what. Some things are likely more suited to a formal auction, some for an estate sale, but we really need to know what we are dealing with before moving forward."

[Arthur Vincent]

Well, she was without doubt the most stunning woman he had seen in a long, long time. He was no degenerate nor did he intend to lead her on. This was business. If he wanted to keep his reputation as a professional appraiser, he had to remain professional. "My pleasure. But if I must call you Blaise, you must call me Arthur. Or Art. Anything but Mr. Vincent. That is my father."

With that, he set down his case and opened it, withdrawing a pair of gloves that he would use to the examine those items that were to be auctioned off. "I will do my best to be of some assistance in that department," he said as he closed the case and straightened, sliding the gloves on. "Where is it that you would like for me to start? As you have so eloquently pointed out, there is much for me to look at and you know better than me what items you are letting go." He had expressed his sympathy for her loss over the phone and he really did not want to remind her of it

This was also not his first time dealing with mourning families. Blaise, however, appeared to be taking things exceptionally well, but looks could be deceiving. But there was something about the beautiful heiress that he would not have noticed until they met. There was the smell of something feline to her that he found familiar - leopard. Still, this was no place for such talks.

[Blaise Rothschild]

Blaise felt her smile soften as Arthur made a, most likely well used, joke about his father being Mr. Vincent. Still, it had the desired effect of personalizing the conversation, and as they were both the sort to hold tightly onto decorum, a shield of sorts, it was certainly a help. Blaise was a very proud, opinionated, women, but she had been well educated, and while she would happily use her sharp tongue to cut any opponent down to size, she was also well prepared to kill someone with the icy bite of cold courtesy. As Arthur was not to be a victim, however, some warmth was welcome, particularly in the circumstances.

Blaise had not been close to her grandmother. Truth be told, her grandmother, mother, and herself, were all far too alike to safely keep in a room together. One had no way of knowing whether the outcome would be the solution to world peace, or absolute armageddon. "Oh. You misunderstand. Everything. We aren't keeping anything." Blaise suspected her mother had been tempted to burn the building to the ground. Blaise, for her part, had found nothing here of sentimental value. Oh, she might find something later to keep, but hardly anything significant. "If you would prefer to start with the furniture, and work your way down?" Blaise imagined there was very little in this house that was not an antique, except, of course, the appliances. Those, at least, were sure to be state of the art.

"I don't expect you to complete the accounting in a single afternoon. We aren't in any rush to sell, either. Please, take your time." Blaise hoped that he at least found some pleasure in his job, particularly as she was not at all sure if she was supposed to sit and watch him the entire time he cataloged. She did have to go through all of the papers and what not, see to any repairs that might need doing before the house could be sold. And if he did enjoy his work? Well, he might find her presence distracting, or annoying. Also, well, Blaise had not missed his own condition, and frankly, was wondering how to address it. She was not intending to out him or anything like that, she was more concerned that he would, perhaps unintentionally, out her, particularly if her mother re-ignited her old lycanthrope transparency arguments.

[Arthur Vincent]

Arthur knew to be polite and patient when dealing with a family that was grieving over the loss of a recently departed loved one, especially with the belongings of the recently departed bringing back any sort of memory that might be attached to a particular object. It was not the most ideal situation and, judging from the emotional state of Miss Rothschild, something that he really did not have to worry about, which he found extremely odd. Grandma must not have been a very popular member of the family. Still, that was none of his business and he had a job he had to do.

Surprise widened his eyes when she corrected him and declared that they weren't keeping anything in the house. Maybe he was right. Still, it gave him pause, and he looked around the room, spying many a notable piece before returning his gaze to the beautiful Blaise. "Forgive me, but... are you absolutely certain?" Disbelief tinted his tone, but she did not spare even a moment to reconsider the situation. Instead, she made a suggestion and told him where he could start. "Right. Considering the size of the home and the amount of stuff that I'll have to authenticate, I might want to go room to room instead. Truthfully... this may take me more than a couple of days." He closed his kit quietly and looked around the room once more, holding in his excitement. There were a couple pieces that he had glanced at there were rare antique pieces.

Arthur nodded when Blaise reassured him that she did not expect him to finish in a single afternoon and that he could take all the time that he needed, lifting a good amount of weight from his shoulders since he had a bad habit of placing limits on himself as a professional. Time was always an important factor. For most appraisers, time was money, but Arthur was not like most appraisers and he actually enjoyed his chosen profession. So, when Blaise basically gave him permission to savor the moment, he smiled and his blue eyes shined with the warmth of it. There was no point in telling her to leave the room. If she had any questions, he would be more than happy to answer them, as long as she understood that he also needed to focus as he was often working with items that were extremely delicate. As for the fact that neither of them were human... there was no point for either of them to bring it up. That was not the reason for his visit.

Words: 337
Time: Day (9:00 - 10:00 AM)
Location: Rothschild Manor, City Limits
Feeling: Professional (and a bit like a kid in a candy store)
Notes: None

[Blaise Rothschild]

Blaise shrugged, her eyes moving from one piece of furniture to the next. This room looked to be mostly early American and Colonial pieces, though she knew that some of the rooms were a bit more ecclectic. "How you do your job is up to you, whatever system is most comfortable for you should be fine." Blaise held her hands in front of her, unconsciously mirroring how she had always been expected to stand when visiting her grandparents. God forbid a grubby child's hand touched....anything. Even now, the room was spotless, not a spec of dust to be seen. Blaise was tempting to leave fingerprints on everything, just to spite her grandmother's memory. Then again, that would have been childish, and Blaise was not that. She was just...remembering.

"I expect you will find everything in excellent condition. My grandparents did not bother with the fake or the damaged." Blaise's lips might have been a bit tighter than absolutely necessary, but her eyes had moved to an accordian file, which she promptly retrieved and offered to Arthur. "This should have the receipts for most of the pieces, and any relavant provenance. Some of the pieces have the paperwork attached to the back..." Blaise would normally have agreed about keeping to one's own counsel regarding species, but her own precarious position did tend to require some assurity. Still, there was no opening, and Blaise was too well mannered to question a man's medical conditions.

"If you are hungry or thirsty, we still have some staff maintaining the home, or you can call for me and I will arrange for refreshment." Blaise was not sure what the protocol actually was. Was she supposed to watch while he tinkered, or was she supposed to leave him to his genius? Would it be rude to go through her phone? Considering her profession, and her firm, goodness only knew how many emails she had missed already.

[Arthur Vincent]

Arthur was used to clients ignoring him whenever he worked. Every once in a while, someone would express interest in his profession and he was more than happy to shed a little light, but those were as rare as some of the pieces that he handled on a daily basis. It also did not help that he did not like to ask too many questions. With his dealings with some of the more questionable clientele on his list, questions were dangerous and he was not much for such thrills. "Thank you." Arthur said politely as he gently took the accordion file and carefully opened it.

It appeared that everything Blaise had said was true. Not that he thought that she would lie, but it was his job to make sure that everything was 100% or else he would be out of a job. Appraisers wouldn't be necessary if everyone took everyone at their word. "That is very kind of you, Miss Blaise. And do not let my being here disrupt you. If there are other matters that need your attention, I will not interrupt. And do not hesitate if you have any questions. I will be more than happy to answer them." Closing the file, he turned his attention to the nearest item in question.

[Blaise Rothschild]

Blaise watched Arthur work for a few minutes in silence. She was never one to fill the void, and clearly neither was he, as he took one item and turned it over at least half a dozen times, testing its weight, looking for marks, damage, and wear and tear. Blaise wondered if he had been as meticulous prior to his infection, or if his ratty senses were what gave him an edge in the buisness. Keen senses were not usually helpful in her line of work, but in his? She could come up with a dozen different ways they would be of assistance. Regardless, Blaise knew he would do a good job in sorting through her grandmother's things. She, for what it mattered, would feel a lot more in control with the final itemized list than she did standing in the middle of the house, staring at the mountains of impeccably maintained, but numerous, possessions.

Blaise felt her phone buzz, and she looked down at her hand, not really seeing it, not checking the screen, but knowing it was likely important. Standing, Blaise excused herself and moved into the foyer to take the call. It was just the first sign of how Blaise presumed this afternoon would proceed. It all seemed rather stifling, and yet, what else was life, until you died? You could not, after all, take it with you.

~ The End~