(no subject)

[herr_bookman]

Autor hunches over his carefully-made parchment in the library today, sheltered by stacked books and soothed by the familiar, lingering scents of tea, ink, and wood oil.

Half-finished knitting cast aside, he clutches his heirloom quill--ignoring his his split-knuckled reminder--and tries not to nod off from staying awake at home for three days.

He's too busy to be anything but brusque.

[tiny tag: BALLS]

Comments

[lady_bols]

Alex loves the library here. It's one of the few quiet, or relatively quiet places in this mad house. And she's never once seen a zombie here.

She likes to come and sit in the big picture window, tucked up with a quilt and a cup of tea, and read. She's been working her way through The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe again. It reminds her of her father, and Mols. Which is why she has to take it in small bites, and break it up with a little light reading, like Jane Austen, or Tolstoy.

Today, she shows up with her cup of tea and book, and is surprised to see someone else working here.

"Oh hello. Sorry, just on my way to -- good heavens, what happened to your hands?"

[herr_bookman]

"Only what I allowed to happen," he says, not bothering to look up from his page until he finishes the sentence. He lifts it up and blows on the ink before glancing her way. "Who is asking me?"

[lady_bols]

"I -- uh -- Alex. Alex Drake. Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. Have you had that looked at?"

He's just a slip of a boy, and someone has done a number on his knuckles. It's not something Alex can just ignore. It's not in her nature.

[herr_bookman]

"In terms of a doctor? No," he says, turning back to set his completed parchment aside, and fetch another one from the pile near his elbow. "Unless you are one, in which case they've been cursorily examined. Are you a doctor?"

[lady_bols]

"No? Not as such. I'm a -- was -- a psychologist, but your knuckles look like they need a wash and some antibiotic cream, not therapy."

She rests her book on the table, and examines him more closely. He looks to be in desperate need of a sandwich and a nap.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

[herr_bookman]

"Wait, really?" Autor asks, blinking. But then he bristles, knowing he's being examined--and worse, knowing why.

"I'm aware of what I need," he says, stacking his papers. "And you didn't catch it because I didn't give it to..." He stops, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Autor. My name is Autor."

[lady_bols]

Okay, that was a lot of information in one little exchange. The book gets set down, and Alex leans against the back of one of the chairs.

"Hi, Autor. Nice to meet you." Yes, her tone is a practiced, professional warmth, but it's no less genuine for it.

"Is there some reason you haven't tended to them yet? Because if you're in the middle of working on something, I don't mind running down the infirmary for you. It would only take a few minutes."

[herr_bookman]

Autor carefully collects his papers and lays them down on the table. He dips his quill.

"I'd prefer not to be analyzed right now, thank you," he says, and starts scribbling in Greek. "Or worried about, much less by someone who doesn't know me. Do you often do so?"

[lady_bols]

"I'm not analyzing you, I'm offering to help."

Her lips press together in a thin line, but she stands her ground. The warmth isn't gone from her tone, but there is a hint of an edge that wasn't there before.

"I'm also -- was also -- a police officer. So it's rather second nature to me to offer assistance to those who seem in need, regardless of whether I know them or not."

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae hadn't been able to find Autor anywhere downstairs or outside, today. When the rats told her where she might find him, she wondered why she hadn't thought of it herself.

Of course he'd be in the library. Probably working without stopping for meals, too.

So there's a baker coming through the library door, one arm crooked through the handle of a medium-sized picnic basket.

"Autor?" she calls, not really raising her voice but trusting the sound to carry. "You in here?"

[herr_bookman]

"Would you please be quiet?" a voice pipes up from behind a stack of books. "We're in a library."

He stands and adjusts his glasses. "Hello, Rae."

[sunbaked_baker]

"A simple 'yes' would've saved noise on either side, you know," she say, smiling. The admonition fell on deaf ears, clearly. "Hi, Autor. How're you?"

[herr_bookman]

"Habit," he whispers immediately. "You have no idea how many people talk in here. No laughter though. Shame, that."

He shifts to his left foot. "And I'm all right. That's not food, is it? Tell me you didn't bring cinnamon rolls into the library again."

[sunbaked_baker]

"I'll have to do my best to change that," Rae promises with a smile, coming over to Autor's table. It really is a shame about the lack of laughter. "And I didn't bring cinnamon rolls into the library again. There's some butternut squash frittata with pistachios and quinoa, baked potatoes with cheese and broccoli, and - cheating a little - a thermos of tea."

She figured he might have forgotten to eat.

[herr_bookman]

His stomach growls at the description and scents, cutting off his protests even before he opens his mouth. "Rae," he tries anyway, "I appreciate the offer, but we can't eat in a library.

"We... could have some of th--no, it's a library," he says, glancing from the basket to his books, and back again. "Maybe I can join you liater?"

[sunbaked_baker]

"We could find an empty table to eat at, without any risk to the books," she suggests, nodding at one of the nearby tables. Apart from a lamp, there is nothing on it, and there is a good five feet between its edges and the nearest bookshelf.

[herr_bookman]

Autor purses his lips. "... Okay," he says, wincing. "We'll have to wipe off all of the surfaces afterward, to make sure there's no grease or anything. Hey, how did you know I didn't eat?"

[street_sparrow]

Gavroche emerges from the stacks with a pile of books of his own, and just barely doesn't lose any onto the floor.

"...hey, Autor."

[herr_bookman]

Autor glances at him, and then returns to dipping his quill. "Hello, Gavroche," he says quietly. "You may want to make two trips."

[street_sparrow]

"...yes, that might be more sensible." He sets his books down on an empty table - not Autor's - and picks up a more manageable half of them. "How are you?"

[herr_bookman]

"Fine," he replies briskly, and then relents, because being sociable is probably a good idea. "Yourself?" he asks, without looking up from his work.

[street_sparrow]

"Doing okay", he answers honestly. "Business as usual, mostly."

[herr_bookman]

Autor's lip lifts a fraction. He wipes his knuckles down with a small towel, and then returns to writing. "Dare I ask what that is?"

[street_sparrow]

"When I'm at home, most of my work is diplomatic. My family are working for unifying our city, it's all very fragmented now, but persuading people it's a good idea is going... very slowly. Here, I just socialise unless something comes up. What happened to your hand?"

[herr_bookman]

"That's interesting work," Autor says, tilting his head. "Unifying between which factions?"

He flicks his gaze to his knuckles. "Only what I let happen," he says. "Pay no mind to them."