His eyes traveled the room, looking this way and that. It was sad, really, to see everything they amounted to here for purchase. Even his posters, from the second campaign. They hadn't won. There had been a hell of a shock that went through the community then. He'd thought to pick things up, move forward and up. There had been a senate seat he'd been eyeing, or maybe the Governor's chair. Either one, and maybe if he hadn't thought he had time, maybe if he hadn't been slowed down by living in the City, he would have been able to stop things.
Maskin didn't intend to move slow. He knew what a junior senator could do, because even if he hadn't won, he'd come fucking close, and if the president (in his world) hadn't had his name to back them up, it could have easily gone in the wrong direction.
He walked slowly, feet moving on the wood flooring, stepping behind him to the coats, the clipping. He remembered when that happened. He wondered, for a moment, if the guy was a fan, or if this was really him. He didn't dare think it, because Maskin couldn't be held liable if he hadn't known. There were cameras in the shop, he could hear them. If it went south, he wanted the surprise on his face to be genuine. He wanted it to be authentic. Above all, he wanted to be able to pull and dump it to where the government could find it, even if they didn't know the source.
He'd never been a good person. He sold it, sure.
But he never had been.
"Latin might be a dead language, but it isn't exactly the hardest thing to navigate," he mentioned, rounding a touch closer. "I'm afraid, that while this is interesting, it isn't exactly something I can afford. Memorabilia is nice and all, but the small collection I have is plenty."
Small collection meaning the few things he'd managed to take with him. A few preserved documents, his signed autograph of superman, his comm, and his gun he'd built. Everything else had been destroyed-- torched in the Gracie Mansion vault, before anyone had been able to get their hands on it. There had been recordings, everything, in case of an emergency. It looked, now, like he had been unprepared, but really, he hadn't been willing to let anything surface.
no subject
Maskin didn't intend to move slow. He knew what a junior senator could do, because even if he hadn't won, he'd come fucking close, and if the president (in his world) hadn't had his name to back them up, it could have easily gone in the wrong direction.
He walked slowly, feet moving on the wood flooring, stepping behind him to the coats, the clipping. He remembered when that happened. He wondered, for a moment, if the guy was a fan, or if this was really him. He didn't dare think it, because Maskin couldn't be held liable if he hadn't known. There were cameras in the shop, he could hear them. If it went south, he wanted the surprise on his face to be genuine. He wanted it to be authentic. Above all, he wanted to be able to pull and dump it to where the government could find it, even if they didn't know the source.
He'd never been a good person. He sold it, sure.
But he never had been.
"Latin might be a dead language, but it isn't exactly the hardest thing to navigate," he mentioned, rounding a touch closer. "I'm afraid, that while this is interesting, it isn't exactly something I can afford. Memorabilia is nice and all, but the small collection I have is plenty."
Small collection meaning the few things he'd managed to take with him. A few preserved documents, his signed autograph of superman, his comm, and his gun he'd built. Everything else had been destroyed-- torched in the Gracie Mansion vault, before anyone had been able to get their hands on it. There had been recordings, everything, in case of an emergency. It looked, now, like he had been unprepared, but really, he hadn't been willing to let anything surface.