Chapter Text
He runs his hands over the silken lining of his suit, scrutinizing the repair done there before making his way down to the newly replaced button – identical to the bespoke glass of every other.
He curtly nods in approval, to the tailor’s obvious delight, before slipping the jacket on over the slate bamboo dress shirt he’d chosen this morning. The fit is still pristine, no further revision needed to its tailoring.
A masterpiece restored.
Allan has always loved the finer things in life. He takes pride in his many collections.
Expense was no longer a factor for a man of mystery. One afternoon holding up a bank or city hall could cover anything unexpected.
It would have been faster to fly to this appointment and back, but instead he climbed into the back of a 1964 Lamborghini Miura – one of his very favorite cars, its bonnie cream-colored paint kept immaculate.
Some things needed to be used for their intended purpose, if only now and again. It felt disrespectful not too.
The time passed easily making small talk, and soon enough Doiby was pulling past the gates of Allan’s estate. Classic, curving wrought iron – with some upgrades, of course. The door was opened, and Allan stepped out, taking a moment to trail his finger across the mint black leather of his car’s interior. Perfect.
It seemed he was in a right sentimental mood today. Just as well, then, that most of his favorite things were safely stowed in the sanctuary of his home.
He made his goodbyes to the other man, who was (as always) clever enough to take the hint. Then, unhurried, Allan made his way inside. Began to wonder his halls once more, a familiar path.
A River Sunset, as he had dubbed the Vietnamese street painting, hung proudly beside Reading Girl in White and Yellow. They were both beautiful, naturally, and carefully sealed in ornate, gleaming frames. Further down the hall, just past the first bend, a treasure he maintained himself: through his careful maintenance, the 1952 standing radio, matching entertainment stand and all, not only looked new, but worked perhaps better than the day he’d gotten his hands on it. He tapped it fondly as he passed.
It went on like that, his personal treasure trove: the remnants of an ancient tapestry, cursed bagpipes. His whiskey collection – the best in the world; carefully curated – and a whole host of swords, spears, daggers, and firearms assembled over the years. An actual canon, even, pilfered from a particularly idiotic hero.
And then there was the Mayne Hall. Molly had appreciated the wordplay.
Allan smiled, inspecting the Harlequin costume through its glass case, although he knew it was still flawless. Preserved, alongside the soul residing in it.
Next was the mandolin displayed beside her – Michael had wanted to be with his mother, desperately enough to try stealing not only her but himself away from Allan. Now, they both got what they wanted.
An instrument could be more difficult to care for than fabric. Carefully, he tested each string – aye, still tuned properly - before moving along.
He had to check all of them over before he could devote personal attention to any of them.
The bronze rose statuette was newer, but she had still been in good enough condition before he managed to track her down. Really, it was as if Rosie preferred Briar’s self-righteous antics to his care. He couldn’t understand it.
He noted the metallic petals could use a polish, resolving to handle the matter himself tonight.
No such thing as good help nowthedays.
As he continued along, Allan caught himself thinking briefly for his collection beyond these walls – Pitviper had managed to break his leg and Dr. Dour seemed livid he’d had to go to Spain to ensure the man kept off it. It was true enough that time and the latter’s attention would fix the former right up, but maybe they wouldn’t mind staying here for a time?
His father’s stuffed crocodile seemed thematic; Karol would surely appreciate the poison collection…
Hopefully he could get away with keeping them for a few weeks.