[[[[[[MONROE'S NOTES: Fin has since left us. However, this was the only
interaction which Monroe had with him.  Cameo by Willow in a robe.  This
was Christmas morning.]]]]]]

Fin enters from the street.
Fin has arrived.

Main Room -- Telegraph Hill Custom Clockworks(#2274R)

	This is a small shop, converted out of the front parlor and front
room of the skinny, small brick house that this building used to be. Two
large display cases have been installed, filled with white light and small
pedestals lined with crushed velvet holding watches and clocks of all
description. Pocket watches nestle next to wristwatches and alarm clocks
and desk clocks, ticking and chiming inexorably away. The lighting here is
indirect and soft, a pale yellow that lends the wooden furnishings a
sepia, antique tone, though they all seem to be of modern manufacture. 
	<<+views installed>>

Contents:
Fin
Obvious exits:
Back Room <BR>  Out <O>



Fin slips into the shop with an even tred. His hnad holding the door open
as he glances about. Then raises an eyebrow before allowing the door to
close. A slim cigarette ghosts trails of smoke as he makes use of it.

Monroe is sitting at the workbench, staring at, of all things, the
telephone, apparently pondering something deeply. The immense heap of a
dog at the end of the workbench, +views aside, is standing next to him
with his massive head on Monroe's long-limbed leg. Monroe pats the dog
absently. He doesn't look up immediately when Fin enters, then does.
You say "Oh. Good morning, sir. There is no smoking here, excuse me. Are
you looking for a last-minute gift?"



Monroe smiles, putting aside whatever the distraction of the phone is, "I
wasn't...expecting anyone on Christmas morning."

Fin pauses, his brow furrowing as if to make a sutiably sarcastic comment.
He sighs slightly, resigning himself and turns. Opening the door slightly
and flicking the lit cigarette into the street. As he turns back his
irritated voice carries through over the starting of a cold. "No, I don't
bother with inane celebrations. Is this shop open?"


Monroe pauses. "Yes, it is." he says easily, rising to his feet. The dog
looks disappointed that his headrest is gone and slips around to the edge
of the workbench and lays down there, closing his eyes as if going to
sleep. Monroe puts the telephone aside and asks, "Is there something in
particular I can help you with?"

Fin looked me over.

Fin

 	 Standing at an even six feet, this man looks to be in the mid
years of his prime. His even, close cropped hair is a deep black, and
frames his almost pale features. His even steady gaze has a dark coldness
and predatory gleam to it. The rest of his smooth, almost lifeless
features are marked by a slim even nose, and a pair of thin almost non
existent lips. 
 	 His even, though strong neck slips down under a high collared
loosely fitted dress shirt, the deep crimson color of which accents the
double breasted onyx suit coat which is excellently tailored. His legs are
adorned in a matching pair of pleated dress pants. His feet covered by
well shined dark brown leather shoes. 
 	 Only the round, red lense sunglasses are left to mention, their
low position on his nose not hiding in the least the aforementioned views
of his eyes.

Willow emerges from the back room.
Willow has arrived.

Monroe(#2087PXKc)

	This is a tall, slender man in his late twenties or early
thirties. His hair is a dark brownish-black, combed back loosely from his
forehead, extending down over his ears. He has a small, soft tuft of hair
at the base of his chin, like a half-goatee, though his cheeks and lips
are clean-shaven. His hands are large and his fingers long, though his
movements are graceful and precise. His eyes are a mild brown, gazing out
evenly at the world with apparently imperturbable ease. His voice is also
cadenced, even and deliberate, with a faint, unplaceable accent that
manifests itself mostly in gentle pauses between sentences and at the end
of phrases.
	His clothes are formal, but his dress is not - though his collar
is starched and pressed, it is unbuttoned slightly, and he wears no tie.
His collared vest also hangs open, grey pattered on grey, dark-buttoned.
His coat is long and cut wide at the shoulders, accomodating his
long-armed graceful movements. His large hands come near white cuffs,
neatly done up with black links. His pants are very dark grey, nearly
black, and are evenly cut down to his comfortable-looking black shoes.

Monroe looked me over.

Willow comes out of the backroom, the sound of her slippers scuffing the
floor. Here hair is tousled and damp, and she's clad in a big, thick robe
of green. Her nose is wriggling, her eyes still closed as she leans in the
doorway, and then yawns.

Monroe's eyes widen and he coughs slightly to bring Willow's attention to
the customer who stands before him. He blushes a little at his neck, just
a little pink.

Fin reaches into the left side of his coat, a variety of black pouches and
velcro straps line the inside of his coat. As well as a thicker pouch
slung at his ribs. He draws a small, silver square from this last
mentioned pouch. Opening it to reveal a pad, and an ornate pen. "I am in
need of a certain variety of gears, screws and wire. Generally a bit too
small to be aquired from a hardware store, I was wondering if you carried
parts?"

Monroe nods and indicates the complicated lathe behind the workbench.
"Certainly, sir." he says easily. "If I cannot acquire them from my usual
suppliers, I would be pleased to tool them for you."

Willow's eyes snap open. She knows that voice. Pink flushes her face, and
she begins to sneak a quick retreat back into the apartment.

Fin nods slowly. "Excellent." He draws the pen, thumb clicking it out then
quickly scribles an almost type set print for a variety of small, but no
rare items. Tearing it loose he holds it over for Monore to take.
Apparently uninterested, unaware, or uncaring of Willow's presence.

Willow seems not to mind this, she disappears in the book, returning a
moment later in clothing for the day, though her hair is still ruffled and
a touch damp.

Fin slides the pad away then draws a bill fold from his coat. "Shall I pay
for them now, or later? Also, is there an expected time for these items? I
can understand a certain slow down in work due to these .. celebrations
most people seem bent on."

Monroe takes the paper and ticks off with the fountain pen which he takes
from the inkwell at the top of the workbench a few of the items.
"Ah...just a moment." He rummages in some bins under the workbench and
produces about three-quarters of the gears, and about half of the other
items. "Well, yes." he says easily. "You may pay for the whole group now,
or just what I have. The price is nominal for the parts - it is the labor
and skill which cause these prices to be so high." he says, indicating the
counter. "I can expect the remainder within two weeks, but we will be
closed on New Year's."

Monroe waves slightly at the telephone. "I can...use the, ah, telephone.
Line. To call you, once they arrive, if you like." he says.

Willow looks around for Argus discreetly, bending at the knees to crouch
down and check to see if the canine is under the work table.

Argus is back behind the work table, curled up, but when Willow looks
close, you can see that his eyes are not *quite* closed.

Willow wriggles her fingers every so slightly. Apparently, there's some
petting to be rewarded, if he's inclined to move.

The dog's tail thumps on the ground, and he *starts* to get up, but he
gets no further than rising up on his haunches, turning around a little
while Monroe wraps up Fin's parts.

Fin raises an eyebrow, as he dolls out a few crisp bills of appropriate
amount. "No, that is quite alright. I will return at the end of two weeks
for the remainder of the items, and to finalize any additional charges to
the sum."

Monroe nods slightly. "Just as you say." he says easily. He writes out a
receipt with the same fountain pen on a parchment pad, signs it 'MPD' and
hands it to Fin with his package. "May I ask what you are using them for?
It is a pleasure to meet a fellow craftsman."

Fin narrows his eyes to mere pinpricks, as he straitens and seems to take
on an even darker cast. Quite for a long moment, the reply when it comes
is almost oily in it's obvious mistruth. "I am making a small toy for a
child of some small size." He grips the note, and package. Then turns and
opens the door. "Thank you for your time,..good day."

Fin turns and slips from the store, and out into the evening air.
Fin steps through the outer door towards the street.
Fin has left.

Willow remarks, "He came into my shop the other day. Pleasant man."
Can ya hear the sarcasm meter go off?

Monroe sighs heavily. Argus nods his agreement and prances over to Willow,
eager for petting. "Ugh." Monroe says. "I should have locked the door
after I picked up the paper."