Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Printable Version
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RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - kaythebold - 09-12-2016
She was staring at the sign out front. Not reading the sign, but staring at it; the shape, the lettering, the particular color and angle of the shadow it cast. It looked right. Most importantly, it looked familiar.
The problem with visions-- well, there were a number of problems with visions, but the most pressing was that she couldn't read a damn thing in them. The wrong kind of seeing, probably. Different parts of the brain. At any rate, the problem had made it very difficult to locate the correct terribly twee bookshop in a city that had twelve on Yelp alone. But she was beginning to think she'd reached her destination.
Cass spun her phone in her hand, let it thunk into her palm twice in a way that was clearly habit. Distantly, she heard the door of the shop open and close, saw a blur of color saunter past. She turned her gaze to the building before her.
At first glance, the young woman who stood before Tsundoku did not particularly look like an antique book enthusiast; even less did she look like a person who had seen the inside of no less than seven bookshops in the last two days. She wore a brown leather jacket approximately three sizes too large for her skinny frame, jeans, and sneakers the color of desert dirt. She had a buzzcut and a scowl that seemed more habitual than deliberate. An estimate of her age would probably land somewhere around the early twenties: the big brown eyes said younger, the bags under them said older, and her terrible posture couldn't possibly belong to someone over thirty.
This was the place. She ran a hand over her skull and huffed out a little breath, almost a laugh. You're being ridiculous, she reminded herself. You're literally just going in to buy a book.
But a very particular book, in this very particular store. Her fingers itched for a cigarette. She spun her phone again. Nerves didn't usually affect her quite this badly. It was the hope that made it excruciating.
"Lay on, MacDuff," Cass muttered to herself as she tucked the phone into her jacket pocket. She strode towards the front door with a briskness that was mostly bravado, turned the knob in a sharp motion and pushed the door open.
An empty desk greeted her. She blinked, then swore, shoulders slumping like she'd been deflated. Just fucking perfect, of course the place was--
She turned, towards the towering shelves and the two figures between them.
Not empty.
The problem with visions-- well, there were a number of problems with visions, but the most pressing was that she couldn't read a damn thing in them. The wrong kind of seeing, probably. Different parts of the brain. At any rate, the problem had made it very difficult to locate the correct terribly twee bookshop in a city that had twelve on Yelp alone. But she was beginning to think she'd reached her destination.
Cass spun her phone in her hand, let it thunk into her palm twice in a way that was clearly habit. Distantly, she heard the door of the shop open and close, saw a blur of color saunter past. She turned her gaze to the building before her.
At first glance, the young woman who stood before Tsundoku did not particularly look like an antique book enthusiast; even less did she look like a person who had seen the inside of no less than seven bookshops in the last two days. She wore a brown leather jacket approximately three sizes too large for her skinny frame, jeans, and sneakers the color of desert dirt. She had a buzzcut and a scowl that seemed more habitual than deliberate. An estimate of her age would probably land somewhere around the early twenties: the big brown eyes said younger, the bags under them said older, and her terrible posture couldn't possibly belong to someone over thirty.
This was the place. She ran a hand over her skull and huffed out a little breath, almost a laugh. You're being ridiculous, she reminded herself. You're literally just going in to buy a book.
But a very particular book, in this very particular store. Her fingers itched for a cigarette. She spun her phone again. Nerves didn't usually affect her quite this badly. It was the hope that made it excruciating.
"Lay on, MacDuff," Cass muttered to herself as she tucked the phone into her jacket pocket. She strode towards the front door with a briskness that was mostly bravado, turned the knob in a sharp motion and pushed the door open.
An empty desk greeted her. She blinked, then swore, shoulders slumping like she'd been deflated. Just fucking perfect, of course the place was--
She turned, towards the towering shelves and the two figures between them.
Not empty.
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 09-13-2016
Someone new lingering outside.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his wine. Coriander? No. Lemongrass. Matcha? Sea salt.
Feh. How was he to taste anything at all, with all this electric sulfur filling up the front room? He might hurt the wretched little demon, if it would not damage Rylan. Though he might be able to find a way to do it anyway, at that. He found that he was in the sort of mood that made it seem a worthwhile course of investigation.
Adelphie's visit had left him out of sorts, and he was responding to the circumstances predictably: with the beginnings of a tantrum.
He tossed back the wineglass to down its contents like a shot, and raked the sharp nails of his left hand through his hair.
His hair. It was a hideous great mess, was what it was.
Detour to the bathroom to find a length of ribbon to tie it back. The black silk was lost in his curls, none of the contrast he might have preferred from a ribbon in blue to match his shirt. He really did need to go shopping. He hissed at his own reflection, because he was alone and he was irritable and he was allowed. It annoyed him, now, that he'd not dressed himself better to greet Adelphie. Too curious to see who it was, impatient, and for his trouble she'd seen him looking a wreck.
Jean's definition of a wreck, at least. Which mostly involved a missing waistcoat, no tie and no jacket and no gloves. He considered it lax that he no longer insisted on a top hat.
Where the hell had he left his gloves?
He stalked through the kitchen, a low growl rolling through him all the while. For that matter, why had Rylan allowed him to come wandering down in such disarray? She ought to have known better.
That he'd been alive centuries and ought to have been able to dress himself to his own satisfaction did not factor into his tempestuous mood, when he could blame someone else instead.
None of this was apparent to look at him when he opened the back door into the shop – except, perhaps, to Elijah. All languid serenity in marble-white and sky-blue. He rested a hand on his cane, and brought curled fingers to his mouth to clear his throat. Not quite an announcement.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his wine. Coriander? No. Lemongrass. Matcha? Sea salt.
Feh. How was he to taste anything at all, with all this electric sulfur filling up the front room? He might hurt the wretched little demon, if it would not damage Rylan. Though he might be able to find a way to do it anyway, at that. He found that he was in the sort of mood that made it seem a worthwhile course of investigation.
Adelphie's visit had left him out of sorts, and he was responding to the circumstances predictably: with the beginnings of a tantrum.
He tossed back the wineglass to down its contents like a shot, and raked the sharp nails of his left hand through his hair.
His hair. It was a hideous great mess, was what it was.
Detour to the bathroom to find a length of ribbon to tie it back. The black silk was lost in his curls, none of the contrast he might have preferred from a ribbon in blue to match his shirt. He really did need to go shopping. He hissed at his own reflection, because he was alone and he was irritable and he was allowed. It annoyed him, now, that he'd not dressed himself better to greet Adelphie. Too curious to see who it was, impatient, and for his trouble she'd seen him looking a wreck.
Jean's definition of a wreck, at least. Which mostly involved a missing waistcoat, no tie and no jacket and no gloves. He considered it lax that he no longer insisted on a top hat.
Where the hell had he left his gloves?
He stalked through the kitchen, a low growl rolling through him all the while. For that matter, why had Rylan allowed him to come wandering down in such disarray? She ought to have known better.
That he'd been alive centuries and ought to have been able to dress himself to his own satisfaction did not factor into his tempestuous mood, when he could blame someone else instead.
None of this was apparent to look at him when he opened the back door into the shop – except, perhaps, to Elijah. All languid serenity in marble-white and sky-blue. He rested a hand on his cane, and brought curled fingers to his mouth to clear his throat. Not quite an announcement.
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Blade - 09-13-2016
He barely took note of The Witch as she came and went, giving The Demon a card of some sort that she whisked away for some safe keeping. He supposed if they’d met under different circumstances he might have liked her; perhaps. That she left his Little Fox a bit under the weather only bothered the part of him that demanded courtesy and good etiquette. At present, such things were far from his mind. And, while he might not admit it aloud, there was a perverse part of him that was thrilled that Jean was a bit out of sorts. Selfishly, that perverse part might have liked it better if it had been he who had done as much.Were he a teenager he might have rolled his eyes at her suggestion that she was capable of hurting his feelings; though, since he was not, and, since he hadn’t the desire to argue about such trivial matters, he ignored the very suggestion such a thing was possible.
“Is it now?” he asked of his voice. Because that was curious. There were very few who found his true voice appealing, interesting, or pleasant to the ear—even on other worlds. He didn’t exactly understand this creature; perhaps that was fair, as there was much she didn’t likely know about himself. And curiosity was a staple of the grigori as much as it was, or could be, a downfall. It was, after all, the very same trait that had led him to follow Jean’s progress through life. “It is not meant for tangible ears, much less ears,” he admitted, feeling as if she earned a bit about him as she was so willing to admit something about herself. He wondered if the many voices she heard were memories, being trapped inside a woman’s skull, or something else entirely.
Elijah smiled as her observation about Jean. “Did you take that slight personally?” No, Jean was not very nice to anyone, but so few immortals were, at least in his experience. He, for one, and like all of his kind, found the turbulence ever present in the shop amusing. “Would you have liked to have been treated with sweetness?” Why bother asking? Because it felt amusing to do so.
When she took a hold of his hand and forcefully pressed it to her cheek, sighing in contentment immediately afterward, he wondered about that too; enough to not bother caring about the action itself. Was she fueled by touch, and if so, what kind?
He hummed once. “Obviously,” he said in response to her going where The Cat went, and perhaps also in response to The Cat not being there for books either. His thumb rolled down her cheek just as someone new entered the bookstore. He ignored them as fingers caressed a path, both firmly and gently taking hold of The Demon’s chin. “Then what are you here for, Songbird?” The question begged more than one answer, perhaps. Why was she in control now, present in place of The Cat? Or, why was she trapped at all?
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 09-14-2016
"Then I suppose it's a good thing I don't have tangible ears." They lifted their brows, cupping hands around Rylan's furred appendages, mimicking the shape, and highlighting the presence of them even though it were contradictory to their words. The gesture was somewhat playful, and the ears did not react to their touch. "You are very old," they said, not a question. "I am also very old, and though I can not tell who is older…" they paused, realizing their tangent. Unable to complete the thought, they backtracked. "But yes, pleasant enough. You do not take compliments well.""Personally, no? I have nothing to offer him as he cannot feed off of me. All the same, he has nothing to offer me. I just thought he would be fun. I was mistaken." Elijah was trying to goad them, they did not fall for it. Though, they were surprised at his compliance, to being touched. Didn't let it show as the pad of his thumb brushed across their face.
"Songbird?" they repeated, sounding pleased, a small smile curling the corners of their mouth. They did not try to pull away from him, face turning upwards against the pressure at their chin. "Once upon time," they began, gaze falling away from him, attempting to see the newcomer from their periphery. "There was a queen. The queen's people were dying. War, and the poverty and famine that come with such. The queen wanted the war to be over, and thus the queen was willing to make a deal. A child for the lives of a million people seems a small price to pay in the moment." They looked to Elijah again. "Thus a vessel. Thus a war won. Thus me." It explained everything and nothing in the short of things. Too much information to go into details, he would have to take what they offered for what it was worth.
They pulled their chin away from his grasp, since he could not truly hold them if they didn't want to be held. Turning on a heel, they peered curiously between books shoved sloppily onto shelves, attempting to see the newcomer that had entered the shop. "What do you think?" they asked, rising on their toes for a better angle. "A new toy?" Spotting Jean, looking grumpy all the while, instead of the stranger they were so keen on seeing, they returned their feet to the ground.
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - kaythebold - 09-14-2016
Her first question, upon spying the two figures between the shelves, had been, Do they work here?
But the thought which followed promptly on the heels of that one, as she maneuvered herself along rows of tomes to get a better look at the pair, was: Is there a fucking BDSM scene going down in this bookstore?
It wasn't a terribly improbable conclusion. Her gaze flitted from the woman's collar to her (presumably very expensive) realistic cat ears to the man's hand at her chin. A full-on suit wasn't exactly her idea of kink gear, but 50 Shades had been pretty successful, right? So presumably there was an interest. Anyway, they were both dressed. And having a conversation. Whatever they were talking about, she didn't quite catch it; Cass scooted further into the dust-laden aisle just as the woman turned away. The motion drew her attention to the shop's third inhabitant, who had been previously hidden by the shop's labyrinthine stacks.
The man who stood at the back of the store had long dark hair, an outfit she mentally coded as "probably expensive, but not overtly kinky" and--
and--
oh, fuck.
The eyes were a vivid shade of blue, piercing and familiar. As she met his gaze Cass stilled, suddenly, like a prey animal hearing a noise in the night. She'd seen those eyes. In her dream, they had belonged to a dragon. A great wyrm curled upon his hoard, radiating age and power. And hunger.
While it was highly unlikely the man was literally a dragon (though, considering the things she'd read about, not entirely impossible), it certainly wasn't a good sign. Particularly if the thing she wanted was here after all. Dragons, as a species and a concept, did not seem terrible eager to give up the things they owned.
Cass forced herself to relax. She'd been frozen for very little time, in all, perhaps five seconds. Attributable to surprise rather than blind, panicked fear. From the depths of her retail experience she summoned a small, polite smile. Right. There was no need to make this weird. Just because her psyche represented this guy as a dragon didn't mean he was going to eat her. Stick with the plan. Get the book, pretend she hadn't noticed whatever kind of bizarre games had been happening ten seconds ago, get the heck out of dodge.
"Um. Hi," she managed at last, drawing the word out slightly in an uncertain cadence. She addressed the room at large, but she hadn't looked away from the man with the blue eyes. "I'm looking for a book?"
But the thought which followed promptly on the heels of that one, as she maneuvered herself along rows of tomes to get a better look at the pair, was: Is there a fucking BDSM scene going down in this bookstore?
It wasn't a terribly improbable conclusion. Her gaze flitted from the woman's collar to her (presumably very expensive) realistic cat ears to the man's hand at her chin. A full-on suit wasn't exactly her idea of kink gear, but 50 Shades had been pretty successful, right? So presumably there was an interest. Anyway, they were both dressed. And having a conversation. Whatever they were talking about, she didn't quite catch it; Cass scooted further into the dust-laden aisle just as the woman turned away. The motion drew her attention to the shop's third inhabitant, who had been previously hidden by the shop's labyrinthine stacks.
The man who stood at the back of the store had long dark hair, an outfit she mentally coded as "probably expensive, but not overtly kinky" and--
and--
oh, fuck.
The eyes were a vivid shade of blue, piercing and familiar. As she met his gaze Cass stilled, suddenly, like a prey animal hearing a noise in the night. She'd seen those eyes. In her dream, they had belonged to a dragon. A great wyrm curled upon his hoard, radiating age and power. And hunger.
While it was highly unlikely the man was literally a dragon (though, considering the things she'd read about, not entirely impossible), it certainly wasn't a good sign. Particularly if the thing she wanted was here after all. Dragons, as a species and a concept, did not seem terrible eager to give up the things they owned.
Cass forced herself to relax. She'd been frozen for very little time, in all, perhaps five seconds. Attributable to surprise rather than blind, panicked fear. From the depths of her retail experience she summoned a small, polite smile. Right. There was no need to make this weird. Just because her psyche represented this guy as a dragon didn't mean he was going to eat her. Stick with the plan. Get the book, pretend she hadn't noticed whatever kind of bizarre games had been happening ten seconds ago, get the heck out of dodge.
"Um. Hi," she managed at last, drawing the word out slightly in an uncertain cadence. She addressed the room at large, but she hadn't looked away from the man with the blue eyes. "I'm looking for a book?"
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 09-18-2016
White wine and blackberries and something sharp or sour. Recognition and fear and they always went hand-in-hand with him, but this was more like déjà vu. Not familiarity, but… something. What she was looking for but had hoped not to find, something she was warned against.
It was not unfamiliar to him. Usually it came from witches. But this one did not taste quite like a witch.
Not that he could be sure, when Elijah and the demon were still busy cluttering up his palate. He neither knew nor cared what they were really doing. Though this new one seemed to have some interesting ideas in that regard, hints of sugar in that blackberry briar wine.
He wished. It would be so much more convenient if they would just make themselves useful and fuck.
"You have come to the right place, then," he said, stepping closer. Slow and prowling and accented with the tap of his cane on the floor. "I assume that it is some specific volume that you seek." He came to a stop with an arm's length between them, rested both hands on his cane. "Will you be telling me what it is that you desire," he asked, "or shall I simply make an educated guess, and give you whatever I think will best please you?"
It was not unfamiliar to him. Usually it came from witches. But this one did not taste quite like a witch.
Not that he could be sure, when Elijah and the demon were still busy cluttering up his palate. He neither knew nor cared what they were really doing. Though this new one seemed to have some interesting ideas in that regard, hints of sugar in that blackberry briar wine.
He wished. It would be so much more convenient if they would just make themselves useful and fuck.
"You have come to the right place, then," he said, stepping closer. Slow and prowling and accented with the tap of his cane on the floor. "I assume that it is some specific volume that you seek." He came to a stop with an arm's length between them, rested both hands on his cane. "Will you be telling me what it is that you desire," he asked, "or shall I simply make an educated guess, and give you whatever I think will best please you?"
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Blade - 09-20-2016
Elijah briefly raised a brow at her comment about not having tangible ears, watching even as she cupped the ones protruding from her skull. So then, it was likely The Songbird did not have a tangible form. That it needed one, or had.He ignored her comment about their age; or rather he forewent commenting about it because it seemed pointless. “That is because compliments rarely carry any weight, and if nothing else, are used for the benefit of the one offering them.” While this might not be true of all earthen creatures, it was true of his kind. Usually. And also almost entirely true of someone like The Fox.
“And yet you seemed so put out,” he said of her time in the garden.
“Indeed,” he responded. It suited her better because of his analogy of a caged bird earlier. She didn’t seem to pick up on the half compliment also being a half insult, and some part of him was pleased with that. Enough that he didn’t release her chin even as she told her story.
Ah...
That made a bit more sense—The Songbird perhaps needed a body. Needed to be tangible. Thus the deal, as she said. He wondered though... was the queen she’d referred to The Cat... or someone else? Human and meta history was so difficult to keep up with, especially when most of it was all the same, like a bad song set to repeat.
When she did pull away he didn’t fight to hold her back, merely allowing skin to brush away from skin. His arms did cross over his chest as he watched her try and get a gander at the new customer, at The Fox assisting... it was one thing to call it, he supposed. He hadn’t been alien to the new girl trying to get a glimpse at the two of them either. She had been both curious and wary before, but now she was just a bit spooked.
He couldn’t help the way he chuckled once, grinning briefly. It rolled off into a lazy smirk as the sensation of The Fox’s emotions hit him. Agitation. Not Elijah’s fault though. He didn’t consider it his fault, anyway. Elijah couldn’t help the fact that The Cat had been brought into The Fox’s home, nor could it be helped that Elijah had found something interesting in The Songbird. Nothing he’d let get out of control, naturally. If he could help it. It had been some time since he’d allowed himself to be too unpredictable, after all.
He leaned back into a bookshelf, arms still crossed over his chest. “That always depends on what they want,” he said. “What about you? What is it you want?” He was growing a little bored with wordplay.
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 09-28-2016
“Well, I assure you I do not give out my compliments so lightly as to render them weightless.” Belial smiled, shifting on their feet in a way that made the ruffles at the back of their knees sway. They were often fidgety when presented with the opportunity to be in possession of Rylan’s body. So much room to stretch and things to touch and the ability to be touched. “Jean can not feed from me,” they begin, as if they'd not explained themselves once already. “Therefore he does not want to play with me. We have nothing to offer each other, so I find him rather boring in that regard.” If there was something else Elijah wanted to know he was asking the wrong questions. Red eyes formed a perfect semi-circle to settle upon their company. “If I was at all put out, it was on wasting the energy to meet him.”
They turned again, unable to help themselves. Eternally curiously. Brushing past Elijah, they adjusted their position to a spot that gave them a better view of the foyer and its new occupant. If they’d had any control over Rylan’s tail it would be swaying lazily like a nosy cat watching prey. Short lived, they turned on their heel to give Elijah their attention once more, brief though the consideration might be. They slid next to him until the length of their arms touched, and they leaned their head against his shoulder.
“You are finally asking the right questions,” they muse, noting the waning interest in his tone. “I want many things, but some mysteries are more fun when you have to figure them out for yourselves.”
Belial had been more forthcoming with information than they’d ever been in the past. Whether it was because Elijah amused them, or because they liked sewing seeds of discord was unclear. They were gone as quickly as they had come, however. The sulfurous distraction disappearing with them.
Rylan’s ears pressed against her head once, before swiveling to alertness. Green eyes blinked slowly, eyelids heavy as if waking from a deep sleep. Her tail shuddered around her knees before curling in a loose pinwheel. Who was she leaning against? She looked down, recognizing the dark slacks and shoes Elijah had been wearing that morning.
Oh. Hm.
She hummed, lifting her head slowly, as to not seem like she was recoiling away from him. Nervous hands smoothed nonexistent wrinkles over her hips. “I suppose you’ve met Belial?” she asked softly, a waver to her tone that expressed her fear of his reaction.
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - kaythebold - 10-01-2016
It took a great deal of willpower not to retreat as the dragon walked- no, stalked- towards her. Cass planted her feet and buried her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She widened the Polite Smile just a little.
"Cool. I, uh, wasn't sure if you worked here." She attempted a furtive glance at the cane in his hand, trying to decide if it was an affectation or if he actually needed it. Considering the rest of his outfit, she felt like it could go either way. She looked back up at him, wondering if she was ascribing a suggestiveness to that last sentence he hadn't intended. Immediately on the heels of that thought was the decision that this man didn't look like one who would make a suggestive comment that wasn't intentional.
How to phrase this? The hope was back, and with it the fear, tight in her throat. Did he have it, after all? What if he didn't? What if he did, and he wasn't willing to sell? What if he'd sold it already? Cass realized she was clenching her fists within her pockets, holding tight to her cell phone in one hand and a pocketknife in the other. She forced her muscles to relax.
"There is...a very specific book I'm looking for," she told him. "'The Sound of the Starry Message,' by Colin Dunn." There was no need to specify which edition; as far as she was aware, there had only ever been one printing. Even as she spoke it, she pictured it, as if the name had invoked the thing itself; a pale blue tome with a thick spine, the scattered stars on the cover, embossed black letters of the title that she could read by feel. It had been a long time, but some things you didn't forget.
"I spoke with someone recently who said you might have purchased a copy within the past couple years or so, and was wondering if you still had it in stock." A slight exaggeration-- the man at the pawn shop had said only that it had gone to an antique book store, but she hadn't seen any of the town's other book stores in her dream. Just this one.
She had to hope it was for a reason.
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 10-25-2016
He cocked his head to the side as she spoke, leaned on his cane as he watched her speak. It was the kind of watching meant very deliberately to make her feel observed.
"This place is mine," he said, which was not quite the same as an admission of employment. Referring to what he did as work was a significant overestimation of his productivity. The taste of the demon dissipated, replaced by timidity and confusion entirely Rylan's. His eyes went a shade darker – just a little. A trick of the light.
Her anxiety was bitter, not the taste of true fear. Tension all throughout her that made him want to prod at her, see if she'd unravel.
Jean hummed as he mulled over the title of the book. It tasted like blackberries and basil when she said it, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The emotional impression given by a book was not always the same as the one given to it; particularly if the book was not one she specifically had owned. Still, it wasn't nothing. If he'd bought it at all, he'd done so because he liked the taste.
Probably. There were occasional exceptions.
"My memory is not what it once was," he said, thoughtful. "We shall look, I think, and see what we might find. Tell me more about it, this book of yours, that I might remember better." His eyes traveled over various shelves, stacks upon stacks and none of them organized in any way that made sense to the eye. Not the shelves that held his houseguests, fortunately enough; the shelves against the back wall, closer to the door into the hall. He turned on his heel, used his cane more from habit than necessity.
"Over here, I should think, if I have it at all." If it tasted like blackberries and basil, if he hadn't been steered sideways.
"This place is mine," he said, which was not quite the same as an admission of employment. Referring to what he did as work was a significant overestimation of his productivity. The taste of the demon dissipated, replaced by timidity and confusion entirely Rylan's. His eyes went a shade darker – just a little. A trick of the light.
Her anxiety was bitter, not the taste of true fear. Tension all throughout her that made him want to prod at her, see if she'd unravel.
Jean hummed as he mulled over the title of the book. It tasted like blackberries and basil when she said it, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The emotional impression given by a book was not always the same as the one given to it; particularly if the book was not one she specifically had owned. Still, it wasn't nothing. If he'd bought it at all, he'd done so because he liked the taste.
Probably. There were occasional exceptions.
"My memory is not what it once was," he said, thoughtful. "We shall look, I think, and see what we might find. Tell me more about it, this book of yours, that I might remember better." His eyes traveled over various shelves, stacks upon stacks and none of them organized in any way that made sense to the eye. Not the shelves that held his houseguests, fortunately enough; the shelves against the back wall, closer to the door into the hall. He turned on his heel, used his cane more from habit than necessity.
"Over here, I should think, if I have it at all." If it tasted like blackberries and basil, if he hadn't been steered sideways.
RE: Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Blade - 03-14-2017
He wasn’t certain if he believed her, but there was a part of him that did--perhaps. Not that it mattered. Caring about what one creature thought about him required that he was invested in them in some for or fashion. And he simply wasn’t invested in The Songbird any more than he was invested The Cat. At best, he enjoyed talking to her because, while she felt malevolent, there was a part of her that reminded him of his own kind. And while grigori rarely got on at all together in groups, or pairs, it was entertaining to collide once in a while.He made an amused noise in the back of his throat as she talked about finding Jean boring. They disagreed in that regard; there was much about Jean that was interesting, but perhaps that was more a matter of preference. After all, eating for Elijah was a mere body function to stay alive. For all he knew, it made up her whole existence. Still, his brow rose as she told him she wasted energy on The Fox, eyeing her as she moved this way and that to peer at the bookstore’s newest occupant. He watched her still until she came to lean on him, and, he was disinclined to stiffen at the touch given his current mood. He was only reminded once again that she appeared to crave it.
“In that regard, Songbird, we have an accord,” he said of mystery even as she switched back to The Cat—as he felt her retire from this world wholly and back into whatever abyss she existed in.
At the same time he sighed through his nose, allowing everything about him to relax in a way. He contemplated, even as The Cat came back to herself, how he should react. He was no longer irritated or angry, to be sure. That helped quite a bit. But he also had a facade to maintain.
“I have,” he replied, tone soft and polite—cordial. He could sense her fear; not a shocking emotion, given her timidity. “Fascinating creature.” And then he lifted away from the bookshelf, his arm brushing hers as it had been pressed against it. He turned to look at her, magenta-electric hues focused on her as he tucked his hands into his slacks, the pockets there. “Are you alright?” he asked, not entirely concerned, but manners demanded he inquire all the same.
Besides, before her personality switch, there had been questions. And Jean was busy at present with another timid humanoid.