Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Printable Version
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Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 11-06-2014
![[Image: Tsundoku.png]](https://alonimi.net/misc/images/graphics/Tsundoku.png)
It used to be a house. Well, technically, it was still a house.
Let's start over.
It was a townhouse in Old Town Valesport, the part of town where the streets got narrower, where the buildings got shorter, where the street lights had never been updated because no one wanted to ruin the ambiance of the old inefficient gaslamps. And on this street of townhouses, this townhouse in particular had been owned by the same man for a very long time.
He did not leave his house very often, these days.
Too many books, had been his problem. So many books that the floors had started to creak, so many books that he'd had to take the furniture out of his once-grand foyer. So many books that he'd had to empty the logs and the ashes out of his fireplace, and start keeping books there, too.
The foyer is a bookstore, now, the sort of bookstore with a hand-lettered sign out front that a person might miss if they walked by too fast. 'Cozy' was the nice word for it, and 'cramped' the less nice. Anyone with meat on their bones would have to traverse the shelves sideways, and anyone wearing a coat or carrying a purse would run the constant risk of knocking something over.
If the door is open, the owner is very probably at the front desk, an old wooden thing with an inkwell that looked to weigh as much as a small car. If he's not, one can always ring the bell - or simply yell. It is a very small building, after all, and he still lives on the second floor.
For people who love books, from the leatherbound to the tattered paperbacks, it is hard to imagine a more perfect place. For those who seek knowledge, the shelves may well hold what you seek. And if you ask the owner - well, you've probably nothing to fear. He's trying to behave himself, these days.
Let's start over.
It was a townhouse in Old Town Valesport, the part of town where the streets got narrower, where the buildings got shorter, where the street lights had never been updated because no one wanted to ruin the ambiance of the old inefficient gaslamps. And on this street of townhouses, this townhouse in particular had been owned by the same man for a very long time.
He did not leave his house very often, these days.
Too many books, had been his problem. So many books that the floors had started to creak, so many books that he'd had to take the furniture out of his once-grand foyer. So many books that he'd had to empty the logs and the ashes out of his fireplace, and start keeping books there, too.
The foyer is a bookstore, now, the sort of bookstore with a hand-lettered sign out front that a person might miss if they walked by too fast. 'Cozy' was the nice word for it, and 'cramped' the less nice. Anyone with meat on their bones would have to traverse the shelves sideways, and anyone wearing a coat or carrying a purse would run the constant risk of knocking something over.
If the door is open, the owner is very probably at the front desk, an old wooden thing with an inkwell that looked to weigh as much as a small car. If he's not, one can always ring the bell - or simply yell. It is a very small building, after all, and he still lives on the second floor.
For people who love books, from the leatherbound to the tattered paperbacks, it is hard to imagine a more perfect place. For those who seek knowledge, the shelves may well hold what you seek. And if you ask the owner - well, you've probably nothing to fear. He's trying to behave himself, these days.
The Bookstore
A small set of stairs with wrought iron rails will bring you to the front door, painted red. A sign to the side says simply 'Tsundoku', painted over the image of an open book. There is a doorbell, but a smaller sign, with tidy handwriting, informs visitors to let themselves in during operating hours.
Inside, the first thing one sees is the front desk to the right. It is crowded with books, loose papers, and antique pens. The owner is probably sitting there, in an old leather chair with a small set of shelves behind him. If he is not, there is a small bell on the desk, the kind one might find at a hotel. There is a cash register, but it is old and manual and accepts only coinage.
To the left of the front door are the shelves, tall enough to reach the tall ceilings and piled high with books. The shelves are just far enough apart to traverse, but larger folk may find themselves having trouble. If one makes it through the shelves, there is an old fireplace on the far-right wall, books stacked along the bottom.
Straight from the front door, one finds a door into the hall. This is the passage into the house, and it is not recommended to venture forth without permission from the owner.
Inside, the first thing one sees is the front desk to the right. It is crowded with books, loose papers, and antique pens. The owner is probably sitting there, in an old leather chair with a small set of shelves behind him. If he is not, there is a small bell on the desk, the kind one might find at a hotel. There is a cash register, but it is old and manual and accepts only coinage.
To the left of the front door are the shelves, tall enough to reach the tall ceilings and piled high with books. The shelves are just far enough apart to traverse, but larger folk may find themselves having trouble. If one makes it through the shelves, there is an old fireplace on the far-right wall, books stacked along the bottom.
Straight from the front door, one finds a door into the hall. This is the passage into the house, and it is not recommended to venture forth without permission from the owner.
The House
His home is surprisingly spacious, for all that the front of the home is compact. Once in the hall, the first door to the right leads to the bathroom, with all necessary amenities and more. The clawfoot bathtub seems large enough to hold five people, and the showerhead seems to have been added after the fact. His soap is shaped like snowflakes, and smells like preserved lemons.
The second door to the right is locked.
On the left is first and foremost a wrought-iron spiral staircase leading to the second floor. Second to the left is the kitchen, which may have been well-appointed a hundred years ago, but now is a touch inefficient. The fridge, at least, is gleaming and new, even if the stove is cast iron.
There is a door to the backyard at the end of the hall, with rosebushes and an old oak tree. A small and neglected wooden swing hands from the largest branch of the oak.
The second story houses the master bedroom, the master bath, a guest room, and an office. All remain locked during operating hours, unless the owner deigns to unlock them.
The second door to the right is locked.
On the left is first and foremost a wrought-iron spiral staircase leading to the second floor. Second to the left is the kitchen, which may have been well-appointed a hundred years ago, but now is a touch inefficient. The fridge, at least, is gleaming and new, even if the stove is cast iron.
There is a door to the backyard at the end of the hall, with rosebushes and an old oak tree. A small and neglected wooden swing hands from the largest branch of the oak.
The second story houses the master bedroom, the master bath, a guest room, and an office. All remain locked during operating hours, unless the owner deigns to unlock them.
Current Status
It is currently tea-time on a Thursday. The skies are gray, raindrops collected on leaves, but it is no longer drizzling. The store is open, and Jean Cernunnos is moping.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 11-08-2014
The majority of people currently living in his home did not actually require the intake of calories to sustain their physical forms.
That did not stop Jean from making breakfast every morning, in part because he knew he looked stunning when he did it. There was, it seemed, something about watching a man lick batter off a spoon that appealed. This morning it was vanilla bean scones, and very strong coffee made in a siphon. It was the kind of weather that demanded strong coffee, and the sort of coffee that demanded sweet trifles.
He was sitting, now, at the front desk near the door, looking very authoritative in his large leather chair. His coffee was in a large earthenware mug he’d had for entirely too long, and he was reading a book about economic theory that he never quite seemed to be able to finish. His suit was a shade of dark grey, his shirt paler, and his tie white; it matched the white ribbon currently holding his black hair in a low ponytail. White leather gloves covered the slender fingers that traced along the pages, and every inch of his posture spoke of well-practiced grace. It was exhausting to watch, in a way.
Things had been quiet, the last few days. Relatively quiet, as these things went. No one had tried to murder him or burn the shop down, which seemed to be the new standard for busy days.
He really was proving to be just awful at behaving.
That did not stop Jean from making breakfast every morning, in part because he knew he looked stunning when he did it. There was, it seemed, something about watching a man lick batter off a spoon that appealed. This morning it was vanilla bean scones, and very strong coffee made in a siphon. It was the kind of weather that demanded strong coffee, and the sort of coffee that demanded sweet trifles.
He was sitting, now, at the front desk near the door, looking very authoritative in his large leather chair. His coffee was in a large earthenware mug he’d had for entirely too long, and he was reading a book about economic theory that he never quite seemed to be able to finish. His suit was a shade of dark grey, his shirt paler, and his tie white; it matched the white ribbon currently holding his black hair in a low ponytail. White leather gloves covered the slender fingers that traced along the pages, and every inch of his posture spoke of well-practiced grace. It was exhausting to watch, in a way.
Things had been quiet, the last few days. Relatively quiet, as these things went. No one had tried to murder him or burn the shop down, which seemed to be the new standard for busy days.
He really was proving to be just awful at behaving.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Hobo_Bob - 11-09-2014
It was amazing to finally get space to move around in. Being stuck in a book as she was three days ago. Terrible!! But, she was cuddled up nicely beside the man who saved her. One of the men who saved her, anyways. It took Elijah's magic to pull her from her book and Jean's kind soul to give him self to her. Again. After that, things were pretty much back to normal. Jean and she shared coffee and when he wasn't around Rhys entertained herself with Elijah. And he certainly was entertaining.The entity seemed to be endlessly frustrated with the woman. She could only do wrong, even when she did nothing at all. The books were too loud when they wanted her attention, she did not put the cups away correctly like how Jean did. In truth, she was ready to push him into a story and leave him there for days on end, but that would only make things difficult to explain to Jean. So, instead, she was left to merely smile and nod.
Blow raspberry at his back as any good person would.
Right?
But it was getting late in the morning. Around eight AM on Thursday, she slowly pulled herself out of sleep. Not willing to move from the warm arms of her muse or separate herself from his scent. It was a little different today, more musky and dark than usual. But perhaps it was the fog in her brain still. Softly, her hands played along the skin of the man in her arms, trailing down his back and back up lazily all the while snuggling as close to him as she could get without moving too much. She wore clothing to bed recently. A cotton night gown or lace. What ever one she felt like that day since Jean had been kind enough to procure her with garments. He would know her sizes, seeing as he knew each and every faded bruise and tattoo on her skin. She was marked up from neck to toes. A light gold ink that he often traced as if to see what they would do.
The poor man, he was so very curious and knew very little about her. Still, he allowed her to remain here. Share his home, his bed and his food. She in turn gave him anything he wanted, with in reason. A customer needing attention, and he was not available, she took care of them. A mess to clean up, she did her best to make it right. A pair of arms to hold him and lips to kiss, she gladly offered herself to him.
Ahhh~....such a nice life to be found here. If only her brothers knew how happy she was in these moments.
As she let these things mull over in her head, her hands pulled the body that held her closer, pressing herself into his chest to hold him against her and wrap his body in her own.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 11-09-2014
It had taken almost an entire pack of cigarettes for Rylan to decide if she was going to visit the bookstore again, today. She had sat at her window seat and smoked each one, meticulously, down to the filter before smothering them in the ashtray as if they had done her some great misdeed. When she picked up the small, green box and revealed that it only housed three more of the bad habits, she decided it was probably time to stop, tossing it at her feet with a sigh.
All in all she had been trying very hard not to think about the bookstore, and the man named Jean that ran it. Showing up three days in a row would likely be a testament to how she had been failing at this endeavor. She swung her legs off the seat and stood in a fluid movement that was a show of feline grace. Her tail uncurled from the line of her spine and swung lazily at her feet as she moved across the room.
Her true interests, by now, were likely very obvious. She considered this as she pulled her too-long, charcoal-colored hair into a high ponytail. She clawed fingers through her fringe of bangs to set them right. Three days visiting the bookstore, now, and she'd not once left with a book. Her silver-furred ears fell to either side of her head as she frowned at herself in the mirror. Pathetic, really, she scolded towards her reflection. Fixating on the man, like this. Unfair to him, at best, since he likely had much better things to do than deal with her.
Rylan had a difficult time seeing herself as anything more than a nuisance, forcing her presence onto other people like she was starved for attention.
She fingered idly at the sleeve of her black-and-white-striped sweater, as she looked down at herself. A black, pleated, skirt encircled her hips; the length (or lack thereof) doing very little to hide the tops of her opaque stockings, clearly held up by garter straps. Her ears pushed forward and she continued to frown, she wondered if she should change. Granted, this was ran the line of her normal attire, but something about it seemed a touch too desperate for today's outing. Shaking her head quickly, she told herself not to worry about it so much and just go if she was going. She shoved her feet into leather ankle boots and mulled over whether she wanted to carry anything else around with her. She could always just come back for it later.
The cat did not walk to Tsundoku, today, she found the misting weather to be quite unfavorable. Aside, from that she made a bad habit of neglecting normal methods of arriving places when she'd gotten comfortable with visiting them. Therefore, in one instant she was not in the bookstore, and in the next she was stepping out of the shadow of a bookshelf as if she had been there the entire time. She walked out from between them and to the front of the store where, to her surprise, Jean was sitting behind the desk. Though, she wasn't sure if she really knew the daily routine of the shop well enough to warrant surprise. She approached the desk and the man, but only stood in front of it, without saying anything. Her ears stood at attention and her tail could be seen sliding to either side behind her shoulders. The way she cocked her head, made her look more like a student advancing upon an unruly teacher. More accurately, however, she did not want to interrupt his reading. Courtly manners at their finest.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 11-09-2014
An electric taste on the tip of his brain, followed by a taste familiar. One that had become familiar, rather, over the course of the last few days. He was not so rude as to smile, amused though he was. He continued to read his book as if he had not noticed her, though in truth he was no longer absorbing the information within it.
"Still have not found the book you are looking for?" he asked finally, without looking up. He knew she was not actually looking for any such thing, but it seemed polite to pretend. "There is coffee in the…" He trailed off as he glanced up from his book, and found his gaze lingering. Lingering, specifically, upward from her stockings to the tops of them, to the thin line of skin visible beneath her skirt and the pattern on her sweater that hugged the curves within it.
"Kitchen," he finished. "And scones, if you care to have any."
A finger was tapping against the page as if impatient, and he attempted to re-center his focus on her ears, on her tail, on traits he associated with entirely platonic affections. It turned out to be difficult when he could as easily imagine hitching his fingers in the garters on her stockings. Or imagine her bent over–
He curled his fingers around the handle of his mug, instead, and sipped at his coffee to distract his attention. It really would be taking advantage, to do such a thing with a woman clearly still in mourning. Such things. So many, many things.
"Still have not found the book you are looking for?" he asked finally, without looking up. He knew she was not actually looking for any such thing, but it seemed polite to pretend. "There is coffee in the…" He trailed off as he glanced up from his book, and found his gaze lingering. Lingering, specifically, upward from her stockings to the tops of them, to the thin line of skin visible beneath her skirt and the pattern on her sweater that hugged the curves within it.
"Kitchen," he finished. "And scones, if you care to have any."
A finger was tapping against the page as if impatient, and he attempted to re-center his focus on her ears, on her tail, on traits he associated with entirely platonic affections. It turned out to be difficult when he could as easily imagine hitching his fingers in the garters on her stockings. Or imagine her bent over–
He curled his fingers around the handle of his mug, instead, and sipped at his coffee to distract his attention. It really would be taking advantage, to do such a thing with a woman clearly still in mourning. Such things. So many, many things.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - jazzhands - 11-10-2014
"I don't understand why you are making me go to a bookshop."
An average height Indian man with a toned physique resumed his nervous pacing back and forth in the misty conditions with one hand glued to a mobile phone. Wearing a black clerical cassock with a collar and simple black shoes, Mark ran a hand through his medium length black hair that was greying at the sides as a familiar female voice spoke back to him in a warm yet firm tone. "Mr. Williams, we both agreed at our last session that you have to get out there and interact with people. It's beginning to affect your work and we can't have that now can we?"
A loud sigh precedes him scratching dark stubble on his chin. "But it's too soon. I can't...I can just leave and get on with my work. I don't have to do this!" "Mr. Williams, you are letting your fear control you again. Your job requires you to be confident in social situations. You had to pick somewhere public and quiet and you were given three options. Do you remember why you chose the bookshop?" "A cafe is the one likely to have the most people there. I need to get a book and you told me to not use my usual shopping sources. A public library involves too much information. But this bookshop....it's your recommendation. You didn't let me scope the place out."
"Exactly, Mr. Williams. If you were allowed to do that, you would feel too comfortable. The only way to truly face your anxiety is to dive right in." Mark stopped moving and stared reluctantly at the stairs leading to a red door. "I don't like diving...I can't swim." "Mr. Williams, remember that charming humour to get you through the day. I am afraid I must prepare for an appointment. Get in there and buy the book so we can both look good to our superiors. Good luck." The call ends and Mark stares at the phone for a few seconds as if he will get a second phone call telling him he doesn't have to go through with this.
Sadly, no call comes and Mark puts the mobile in his left pocket before taking an orange prescription bottle out of the other one. Carefully unscrewing the cap, he pops two pills into his mouth and swallows them quickly before screwing the top back on and pocketing the bottle. His head darts side to side quickly to ensure no one noticed and a feeling of relief flows through him upon detecting nobody in the nearby vicinity. Mark slowly walks down the steps and takes a couple of deep breathes to himself as he rubbed his gloved hands to calm his nerves.
Nodding to himself to try to psych himself up, the man ignores the fact that the colour red usually means stop and heads inside the bookshop. Focusing on steady strides, Mark walks towards the desk and spots a woman with silver furred ears and a moving tail standing in front of a man sitting at the desk. He knew there was a time where this sight would have genuinely shocked him but that was a long time ago. However, the man feigned surprise at the sight of this woman to appear more normal before focusing his attention on the man sipping from a mug.
Mark took a tactical glance around the area and assumed this person is an employee due to the position of the desk in relation to the entrance to the bookshop. Focusing his thoughts on confidence, Mark spoke to the male in the chair. "Hello there. Sorry if I am interrupting anything here, I was hoping to get my hands on a book. I would be happy to wait until you are finished with this lovely lady first though." Mark gave a quick grin before folding his hands behind his back and looking around the bookstore to see if there were any other people he would have to interact with.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 11-10-2014
Rylan resisted the urge to fidget, as if the discipline would make it less obvious that she was waiting for him to address her. She settled for pushing her sleeves up her forearms, revealing the spiral of spots that trailed her left appendage and dropping her ears to either side while she took the time to admire him; impeccably dressed and attractively focused. Tufted ears rose to attention immediately, however, when he finally spoke up.
"It seems that I am more fastidious in my literary ventures than I originally thought." Her response came clearly, not a mumble or a stutter to be heard. This was the game they played. She would come to the bookstore, pretend to be looking for something, while interacting with Jean, and ultimately leave empty-handed. Somewhere in that time enough of her barriers had peeled back for her to be able to hold a decent conversation without cowering. With Jean, at the very least. Anyone else was still a work in progress.
She watched his gaze settle on her, and the prior concerns she'd had for her attire bubbled up once more. Her tail dropped to flicker around her knees, wordlessly conveying the issue. "Coffee sounds...nice," she forces herself to say evenly, over any concern in the back of her mind that he'd found something displeasing in her outfit. As if he actually had any interest in what she wore.
Her ears pulled back to the sound of the door opening, automatically. When she turned to see someone she didn't recognize, she seemed to freeze reflexively. As the new patron drew closer, she moved to the side, as she always did when someone else approached the desk, as if a further proximity would keep her from being noticed. All in all it did little to make her invisible, and she immediately frowned we she was referred to as lovely, apparently in the habit of taking any compliment as a polite fallacy,
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 11-10-2014
The anxiety in the room was bitter, raw and unsweetened cocoa. Which was, he supposed, to be expected in a bookstore. People who enjoyed the company of books and people who enjoyed the company of people were rarely one and the same. He had thought at first that Rylan's anxiety was based around his similarities to the man she'd loved, but time and experience had proven this false.
"You would be waiting a very long time for that, I fear," he said, a curl to the corner of his mouth that revealed no teeth. "While the lady decides what she wants, I would be happy to help you find what you seek." He found himself hoping, oddly, that she did not decide to retrieve coffee just yet. He wanted her to wait until he could join her, wait until he could have her alone on the kitchen counter–
Probably best that she didn't, at that.
"Is it a particular book?" he asked as if his mind weren't wandering, "Or is it only a particular type?" He closed the book that had been sitting open before him, sliding it aside to make room for his ledger. He tended to be quite awful at finding specific books, which was not a very good trait for a bookseller.
"You would be waiting a very long time for that, I fear," he said, a curl to the corner of his mouth that revealed no teeth. "While the lady decides what she wants, I would be happy to help you find what you seek." He found himself hoping, oddly, that she did not decide to retrieve coffee just yet. He wanted her to wait until he could join her, wait until he could have her alone on the kitchen counter–
Probably best that she didn't, at that.
"Is it a particular book?" he asked as if his mind weren't wandering, "Or is it only a particular type?" He closed the book that had been sitting open before him, sliding it aside to make room for his ledger. He tended to be quite awful at finding specific books, which was not a very good trait for a bookseller.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - jazzhands - 11-10-2014
Spotting no other people in the bookstore helped calm his nerves down a bit before he focused his efforts on responding to the employee without any stuttering. "I know this sounds like an odd request...but I was hoping you would have a fancy Bible in here. There is a gathering of the clergy happening later on today and I want to impress an archbishop that is attending." Mark felt his hand shaking behind his back as he spoke and took a moment to compose his thoughts and stop his right hand from displaying any signs of social anxiety.
Letting his mouth extend into a big grin that tried to be polite and charming, Mark felt the need to elaborate. "I know that us priests present the idea of any gift will do and that is true to our avid church-goers under our loving guidance as well as strangers like yourself. But when it comes to navigating the minefield of clergy politics...popularity plays a key part and I would love a Bible to dazzle this archbishop. Would you have anything like that in stock? Feel free to just point me in the right direction so I can leave you to entertain the beautiful lady."
Mark gently bowed his head to the quiet female that had shyed away and waited for the employee to reply so that he could crack on with grabbing the book and getting out of here so he could tell her he had successfully done the task.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 11-10-2014
The feline returned the small bow, instinctively, without meeting the man's eye. Despite appearances such small courtesies had been ingrained within her, practically from birth.
Rylan immediately turned her frown upon Jean at what sounded very akin to an offhanded quip on her daily habit of indecision. Her tail whipped to one side and then back again, as one ear fell lopsided. She remained as frustratingly silent as always, however. Turning on her heel she presented the two men with her back in a flurry of dark skirts and darker hair. A gesture that encompassed much more sass than was honestly necessary. Lacing her fingers behind her back, her boots were surprisingly silent as she sauntered off towards the fireplace.
With her senses being as as sharp as they were she could still hear the two of them conversing. Despite her interest in what exactly a fancy bible would look like, she resigned to kneeling near the hearth to poke at the stacks of books that had gathered there, instead of trying to find out. She could, at the very least, keep up the charade that she was indeed just looking for a novel. Her interests in Jean had moved well past his resemblance to her deceased husband by this point. She had sense enough to be able to separate the two men as individuals in her mind. She was hurting, but by no means left delusional because of it.
Though, her preferences were clearly distinct.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 11-10-2014
"Aaah," he said, and he almost smiled. "Everyone has their vanities – even priests. However would God know you loved Him, if you did not have a Bible glorious enough to prove it?" The man's grin was painful to behold, dreadfully forced though he could tell that he was trying his hardest to seem natural.
It was a wonder such a man could bear to leave the house. And a priest? It was difficult to imagine him at the pulpit, though he may well have been more the scholarly sort.
"As the beautiful woman in question appears to have excused herself," he said as she spun herself around, skirt fluttering in such a way as to give an interesting view as she left, "I am free to assist you as thoroughly as I can." Leaning back in his chair, he retrieved his cane to stand, long legs making their way around books to emerge from behind the desk. Rhys had been trying to reorganize the shelves, but he always found the results unsatisfying, and so by morning he had always undone all that she had managed.
"What is your budget, frère?" he asked, as he gestured for the other man to follow him between shelves. "Not to pry, of course. I only wonder if you would prefer an old family bible, or perhaps a facsimile. If you are feeling terribly extravagant, I have an incomplete Gutenberg and a forgery of the Kennicott Bible… but those are, perhaps, too extravagant." His cane tapped against the floor with finality as he found the shelf he wanted, between the Avesta and the Kojiki, Quran and the Ramayana. And also, for reasons only Jean knew, a first edition of The Lord of the Rings.
They were near enough to the fireplace, though not in sight of it, to remind Rylan that the store was too small to actually find refuge anywhere. Slightly claustrophobic, all in all.
If he couldn't taste very well what was not happening upstairs, he'd be suspicious of Rhys' continued absence in the shop. He didn't mind a priest, every now and again, but this one was nervous for all the least interesting reasons.
It was a wonder such a man could bear to leave the house. And a priest? It was difficult to imagine him at the pulpit, though he may well have been more the scholarly sort.
"As the beautiful woman in question appears to have excused herself," he said as she spun herself around, skirt fluttering in such a way as to give an interesting view as she left, "I am free to assist you as thoroughly as I can." Leaning back in his chair, he retrieved his cane to stand, long legs making their way around books to emerge from behind the desk. Rhys had been trying to reorganize the shelves, but he always found the results unsatisfying, and so by morning he had always undone all that she had managed.
"What is your budget, frère?" he asked, as he gestured for the other man to follow him between shelves. "Not to pry, of course. I only wonder if you would prefer an old family bible, or perhaps a facsimile. If you are feeling terribly extravagant, I have an incomplete Gutenberg and a forgery of the Kennicott Bible… but those are, perhaps, too extravagant." His cane tapped against the floor with finality as he found the shelf he wanted, between the Avesta and the Kojiki, Quran and the Ramayana. And also, for reasons only Jean knew, a first edition of The Lord of the Rings.
They were near enough to the fireplace, though not in sight of it, to remind Rylan that the store was too small to actually find refuge anywhere. Slightly claustrophobic, all in all.
If he couldn't taste very well what was not happening upstairs, he'd be suspicious of Rhys' continued absence in the shop. He didn't mind a priest, every now and again, but this one was nervous for all the least interesting reasons.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Blade - 11-11-2014
The morning was whimsy, as some would say. Those few moments before sleep broke into the realm of awake and alive; those moments were laden with half dreaming and draped in lacey fog. That is how human beings slept; that is how things that were quite alive and needed rest slept. Those beings broke through the haze and into the world they were meant for without ever really focusing on the shroud covering their senses in half-desire to remain.
He didn’t need sleep; though it was something he indulged in from time to time like a curious child who didn’t quite understand the mechanics. In a way, it was good for allowing what constituted as his mind to wander and reassess the previous days or hours. Like a deep meditation, some might say.
But, he wasn’t sleeping now. Elijah was going about his daily routine of waking; one that was common when he did ‘sleep’ the night before. While his eyes were still quite shut he was fully aware of the woman in his arms curling in further—pressing further and trailing her fingers along his back in a way that was akin to a troubadour strumming a lute. His grip was lax by comparison and his body stilled. Most assuredly because he wasn’t quite sure how to react.
He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the girl. Jean liked her well enough, but his judgment had been questionable in the past. She was… interesting enough. He could at least appreciate her manners even if he felt the real need to be wary.
Why did his master have such bad luck with lovers? It seemed like every one out of five required some kind of dusting up of pieces or removal of said lover.
Truth be told though, he’d awoken the moment Jean had risen to open the store. He’d given Elijah that look though, pressed his finger to his lips, and then gone. Elijah had sighed after that and had remained at his behest while he waited for her to rouse herself.
She was moving now though; which meant she was waking up. There was no point in allowing his eyes to stay shut while he tried to keep tabs on what was going on downstairs and ‘meditate’.
Really, it was his great desire to move away, to remove her arms from him; that kind of haste wouldn’t do though… It wouldn’t be proper. Not that sleeping with a woman half naked draped over his half naked body was proper… Why had he decided to sleep with Jean again? Surely why indeed if it meant sharing the bed with her?
He didn’t have much of an answer aside from the fact that he’d missed his master. So, instead, he remained as tangible as he needed to be for her and asked softly—sighing as if put out, “Are you awake, Ms. De Marucillano?”
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - jazzhands - 11-11-2014
Mark watched the employee stand with a cane and his mind briefly considered the possibility of asking about the cane. However, he figured it was best to focus on getting the book to avoid any potential social mistakes allowing his nerves to really show through. Mark follows the man and listens to him give the various book options and wondered how expensive the book would need to be to get him a private audience with the archbishop. The sound of the cane tapping against the floor brought him back to the moment and he kept his hands behind his back as he gave a reply.
"I feel somewhere in the middle would be a good choice. Either the old family bible or the facsimile. I would love to try to be more extravagent but alas, priesthood is not a life that grants you a footballer's salary." Finding himself feeling more comfortable, Mark gave the other man a genuine warm smile due to not feeling as anxious as when he had first entered the bookshop. He knew this was partially due to only having to work in a one-on-one environment of interaction but one step at a time.
"I shall trust in your experience and wisdom as to which option would be the best to knock the socks off the archbishop. Not that he wears socks, he is a sandal and flip flop man. Something I will never truly understand." As Mark awaits an answer, he takes another sweeping look around to try to work out if the bookstore is comfortably cluttered or far too cramped for his tastes.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 11-11-2014
"A facsimile would probably be best," he said, "as they tend to be the prettiest, as these things go. Not quite so fine as the original illuminated manuscripts, but just as lovely, if the desire is to catch the eye. The old family bibles are nice, in their way, but they are more of historical interest than the sort of thing one might want on display." He reached up to pull one down from a higher shelf, bound in handtooled blue leather pleasing both visually and texturally. "If he is the sort for sandals, something so old-fashioned may well be best for him."
He balanced the spine of the book on one hand to open it, let the pages flutter open and used his thumb to fan them out just-so. Replicas of carefully inked pages had the look of something old with the shine of something new, gold leaf and bright colors decorating the pages. "Not the sort of thing to impress a purist, a facsimile," he warned, "but they are nonetheless quite lovely, I should think."
He seemed to be feeling a bit better now, the dreadful rictus gone from his features and the anxiety having leached out of him. A certain similarity to Rylan, in that; familiarity with the location seemed to help. Or perhaps it was something about the company, his sharp features or the cat-like traits of Rylan. That did seem like the sort of thing that might unsettle a person, though he had detected no surprise about him.
"Alas, I cannot be sure without meeting the man, and so my wisdom may not be as useful as you are hoping. With what information I have, this is the title I would recommend." He offered him the book to look at, with his most harmless variety of smile, the whole of his mouth a soft and toothless curve.
He balanced the spine of the book on one hand to open it, let the pages flutter open and used his thumb to fan them out just-so. Replicas of carefully inked pages had the look of something old with the shine of something new, gold leaf and bright colors decorating the pages. "Not the sort of thing to impress a purist, a facsimile," he warned, "but they are nonetheless quite lovely, I should think."
He seemed to be feeling a bit better now, the dreadful rictus gone from his features and the anxiety having leached out of him. A certain similarity to Rylan, in that; familiarity with the location seemed to help. Or perhaps it was something about the company, his sharp features or the cat-like traits of Rylan. That did seem like the sort of thing that might unsettle a person, though he had detected no surprise about him.
"Alas, I cannot be sure without meeting the man, and so my wisdom may not be as useful as you are hoping. With what information I have, this is the title I would recommend." He offered him the book to look at, with his most harmless variety of smile, the whole of his mouth a soft and toothless curve.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Hobo_Bob - 11-12-2014
Rhys felt the body in her arms move, and then a voice spoke. Not the one she was hoping it would be, but still quite comforting to know that it wasn't a voice she didn't know. That had happened once or twice before. A muse getting bored of her would often have someone come in to 'replace' themselves. That hardly ever worked out well for all involved. "Hmmnn~....no, signore. I still sleep...." Pulling herself against him more, she tucked her head under his chin and placed a soft kiss to his left collar bone. Very soft and careful, as if using too push pressure and he would fade away into smoke. He has done it to her in the past, her shoulder brushing thought him or she turns too quickly and right into him. Or what used t be him.
No, right now she had Elijah in her arms to hold and she was going to milk it as long as she could.
Her soft giggle could be heard while her hands smoothed along his back again, palming the smooth skin from shoulders down to his hips, where his pajama bottoms covered what lay underneath. "Signore Elijah, he say to stay till I am up. A little longer, I do not want to move yet." to show her desire for him to stay as she was, her lips once more were placed on his neck for a short, gentle kiss and then she snuggled against him, her leg slipping between his to pull him closer.