fandomhigh | Library, Wednesday [ 02/06 ]

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Library, Wednesday [ 02/06 ]

Adah came in for her day at the library with the distinct conviction that people just weren't worth the trouble it took to deal with them. She felt she could honestly say that, too, as she had been attempting to be social quite a lot this last week, and look where it got her. Waking up fresh from another bizarre dream of Africa and feeling horrible. Books, she figured, were a much better companion; usually, she knew if an author was going to throw a temper tantrum at her, and if she didn't like it, close the book, get a new one. Books were also very good at making barricades around the desk, hiding her from people...and kissing. People, on the other hand, would be much harder to get to cooperate, unless they were dead, and Adah doubted she could ever really kill anyone.

She did, behind her wall of books with just enough space so that if someone really did need help or Bob came around and did not approve, then she could depend on those to defend herself. And she was slowly nursing a warm mug of tea, toh, yerg lrae. Maybe that would make her feel better in not too long.

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Perhaps No Snikcidy Lime was on to something, Adah contemplated, with that whole recluse thing, cautiously peeking at the world behind a dusty curtain. But then Adah remembered that she probably died a virgin, and that made her feeling a bit more reluctant to wander down Emily's path.

There was, of course, always the Poe path, as well, which her recent excursion to the bar had her feeling that it was quite do-able, though expensive, but she reached a slight stop in the fact that she had no cousins for which to complete that particular one with. And she was rather grateful for that one.

She was contemplating it a shame that she couldn't grow a wild beard and follow the path of Whitman. This thought only held for a brief moment though, because she'd be damned if she was reading Whitman's drivel today.

Adah contemplated over her meager lunch at how she didn't know any authors who were particularly known for starving themselves, although they did have habits of depriving themselves of other things. This, somehow, made her apple slices more interesting.

And then, post-lunch and lacking tea, Adah found her leaning slant toward Thoreau's path. Shirk your responsibilities and disappear into a swath of land owned by your portentous connections and criticize the world. Really, that was quite up Adah's alley. If only she had portentous connections....

By now, Adah has realized that she can't write anyway, and that she'd much rather be hunched over a microscope with research petri dishes around her. Germs were easier to understand than words, easier to deconstruct, although probably just as difficult to build together.

So she gave up finding her literary life-path muse, and just settled in to write some Melville/Hawthorne slash.

It was incredibly uplifting.

This post brought to you by a mun who has studied way too much American literature. Also, misery loves company. ;) I be around, although forgive the occasional sloooowness.

Wednesday, of course, found Lee wandering into the library after his classes were over. He didn't bother trying to look distracted or pretending he was looking for someone else. Just headed for the desk, albeit slowly, with a small smile on his face.

The small gaps, like arrow slits, in the wall of books did allow for attention to movement, even as Adah hunched over her trite (and, quite frankly, really awful) elaborations on Melville's persistent complaining through Hawthorne's under appreciated attempts to encourage his hapless comrade. There was to be talk of a voyage, which, in a sudden, Spofford-esque turn, would go off-course to the hole at the center of the earth, where grand adventures would await for their lo--

Adah blinked. She lifted her head, and then tilted it slightly to see a slip of the Eel through the books. "You're interrupting a manifesto, here," she warned him.

A manifesto of pure crap. But weren't most manifestos like that?

"I haven't interrupted anything," he pointed out, "because I haven't said anything until now. You interrupted yourself by paying attention to me."

Lee didn't know if that made much sense but he felt it was true. He could've been just coming up to stand quietly and be innocuous.

Adah's eyes shifted to the side as she considered this, and, very quickly, her nose wrinkled over a slight sneer, her hand curling into a fist around her pen. Damn him; he was right. She'd initiated it. He didn't even say anything and there she was, going about and acknowledging him and completely contradicting her whole idiom as intended with the Wall. She figured that she could, at least, count that as double points against him. One, for distracting her just by being him, and two, for making it so evident that number one existed.

Just for that, Melville was getting stabbed by a pirate. A shirtless one. And Adah was going back to her manifesto without saying anything else, as if she could just get a restart on the whole encounter thus far.

"Are you ignoring me today?" he asked, leaning lightly against the counter. "Or something more interesting?"

Multiple stabs. While Hawthorne flailed around without knowing what to do before giving the shirtless pirate a punch straight into his kidney. This, of course, will not bode well for Hawthorne...

...and the Eel would have his answer in the form of the lack of an answer to his question.

"All right," he said, pushing away from the counter. "I'm not going to bother you if you don't want to be bothered. Can I just ask if everything's all right before I go?"

Adah blinked. Her pen paused. That was just it, then? He wasn't going to try to talk his way into staying around a bit longer? Then again, why would he? She wouldn't exactly want to bother dealing with her right now either. So, fine, let him be on his way to less difficult things, hope the door doesn't hit his very nice ass on the way out.

She laid the pen down flat on her notebook and straightened slightly, as well as she could. She frowned at him. "Of course it is," she lied, defensively. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Usually you don't ignore me," he pointed out. "Even if you don't want to talk, you tell me so in as many words. So, what's wrong?"

Cimorene came in, almost over her shock of how many books there were here, and smiled politely at the girl behind the counter.

Adah lifted her eyebrows. "But I didn't ignore you," she stated. "If I'd have ignored you, you wouldn't have gotten to point out the fallacies of my interpretation of interruptions..."

She shifted slightly in her chair. "Even if something was wrong, when have I ever been one to want to talk about it?"

"You ignored me after that," he said, frowning. "I didn't ask if you wanted to talk about it, I was just asking if there was something wrong. Can I do anything?"

Something was tickling the back of Adah's brain to believe that there just might be someone outside her little world of books. She paused, to see if the feeling would go away, but it didn't, exactly, so she lifted her head, shifted slightly to the left so that she could look through one of the slots in the towers, and look expectantly through it at the girl to impatiently wait out what it was she might be needing.

A deep intake of breath preluded Adah's forfeiting, sighing slump forward over her notebook. There was a dull buzz of frustration in her head, carried over from yesterday, from the weekend, from just being exhausted with everything. She lightly tried to shake it away. "No," she responded quietly, "there isn't." Nothing short of him just stopping being so...him. "I'm just...tired. Ready to just close myself off in my room for a while." She gave a stack of books in front of her a poke, frowning at it. "These only work so much."

"You sound tired," he said just as quietly. "Almost look it too. Exhausted. I can't help? Carry some books for you? Get you something to drink?"

Cimorene peered through the slot. "Good morning. Are you busy?"

Adah's eyes shifted to the side for a moment, thoughtfully, as she decided not only on her answer to that question, but exactly how she would deliver such an answer. Finally, she shifted, reaching for her nearby opened notebook, writing quickly on it, tearing the sheet out, folding it up, all very slowly and complacently so that she half expected that when she slid it through the slot, there would no longer be anyone there to receive it, having decided she didn't need to be waiting for this.

Unfolded, the paper would read, "Technically speaking, not really."

Cimorene read the note and considered her reply. "Could you point me towards the history books? Are we not allowed to talk in the library?" She asked as an after thought.

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Library, Wednesday [ 02/06 ]

First Period -- 02/06

Second Period -- 02/06

Third Period -- 02/06

Lunch -- 02/06

Fourth Period -- 02/06

Fifth Period -- 02/06

OOC -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Third Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Third Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Fifth Period -- 02/06

Re: Third Period -- 02/06

Re: Third Period -- 02/06

Re: Third Period -- 02/06