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The Polaroid camera comes with a spectral flashbulb, a case of enchanted film and two 10% off coupons to be used at Magical Miriam's Emporium of the Arcane, during full moons only.
It's payment for ridding Miriam of a very clumsy poltergeist and Charles is thrilled with it, examining the camera with bright eyes.
Even Edwin thinks it's a good deal. "That will be a brilliant addition to our arsenal, Charles," says Edwin excitedly. "Imagine all the case scene photographs we can take."
"It takes pictures of ghosts!" Charles exclaims, digging into the box. "Mate, I've got to get a picture of you."
Edwin frowns. "Whatever for?"
"The office. We need a proper portrait of our lead detective." Charles smiles widely, even as his fingers tear through the case of enchanted film. "Now come on, get behind the desk and let's see your big smile."
Edwin supposes this makes sense in a Charles kind of way. He smooths down his jacket and sits ramrod straight in his chair, facing the camera held by Charles who is squinting into the viewfinder.
"Nah, mate. You gotta smile."
Edwin had his picture taken once when he was alive and he had been instructed not to smile. He isn't sure if he likes the change. "How's this?" Edwin mutters behind clenched teeth.
Charles recoils from the viewfinder with a wince. "A little less ... scary, maybe? Just relax."
The suggestion offends him. "I'm not going to be slouching in my official portrait for the agency, Charles. We have standards to maintain."
Charles examines him with a critical eye. "Look a bit to the side and think about your favorite book."
Odd instructions, but Edwin plays along. The bulb flashes, and with a click and a whirr, a photograph slides out. Excited, they wait side by side for the picture to develop.
What appears is a nice side profile of Edwin, looking off thoughtfully into the distance. Edwin is pleased, staring at the first image of himself he's seen in a long time. "I think that will do."
Charles shakes his head. "Nah, we'll need to take backups. And some casual photos, to make us approachable." He grabs more boxes of film. "Roll up your sleeves and look busy. "
"What?" Edwin is confused as Charles stations him by the bookshelves encouraging him to act as if he's looking through them with his shirt sleeves rolled up. "But why?"
"We want to seem like we're with the times, not stuck in the last century or two." Charles aims the camera and takes multiple shots. "It's called PR, mate, you got to trust me on this one."
Edwin shrugs. Going along with Charles' ideas, no matter how bizarre, is an old habit. One he doesn't intend on breaking now.
He lets Charles pose him in the office a half dozen more times, then it's onto the roof. Instructs him to lean back against the roof's edge, elbows on the ledge, collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled past his elbows. It's windy up there and his hair is probably going haywire, but Charles insists he doesn't tame it back down.
There's a point when the sun is setting, covering the roof in a warm glow, that Charles says, "Don't move!"
Edwin looks directly at Charles and the camera, feeling both fondness and exasperation, as another picture pops out. Charles watches it carefully and as it exposes, his smile turns beatific. "This is the one."
"Let me see," Edwin insists, looking over Charles's shoulder.
The picture shows a young man at the height of his beauty, looking at the camera as a lover might, standing over London at the golden hour.
Charles can't stop staring at it.
Edwin doesn't think it looks anything like him. He also doesn't think they have any use for it. "That is the most unprofessional business photograph I've ever seen."
"Yeah, you're right. I'll keep this one for myself," Charles says, carefully tucking it into his jacket. "But the rest are brills, we'll put them on the wall."
Together they walk back to the office, and Edwin is curious. "How many of these photographs are there?"
"I dunno, twenty? Thirty? Something like that." Charles answers nonchalantly.
Edwin groans. "And how much film did we have?"
Charles looks thoughtful. Kind of. "I don't know, twenty ... thirty?"
"Charles!"
And there's laughter as Charles zips past him, running away from Edwin's scolding as fast as he can go.