fandomhigh | Library [06/13]

Jono, meanwhile, looked something like the sort of boy who tended to have difficulties keeping his feet off of the desk while reading. Which certainly carried over neatly into the slight upward twitch of his eyebrow while he set the book down on the counter and gave her a quick once-over.

//Sundays are usually our quiet day,// he replied, reaching to turn the music down slightly, //but really, Sunshine, if yer not a fan of music, all you had to do was ask.//

He could snark with the best of them, Rosalind. Brace yourself.

She was giving him an appraising look right back. The smell was stronger here and she was relatively certain that it was coming from him.

Her distaste for that, however, was kept off her face. Even as her eyes narrowed at the sound of--the voice--and a chill went down her spine. There was a voice in her head. Fantastic. His mouth was covered but the words only made sense coming from him.

"I am no one's sunshine," she told him. "And that was asking."

Actually, that had been reminding him of his job.

She was giving him that look. Jono hadn't been very obviously a mutant for very long, but he certainly had been one long enough to know that look when he saw it. And so he nodded, slowly and just once, and then he leaned back a little in his seat.

//Generally, when most people ask, Sunshine, they use words like 'would you,' and 'please.'//

He felt it was well within his rights to lecture her on manners if she felt it was well within hers to lecture him on music that had been turned on while the library was empty.

Edited 2010-06-13 15:39 (UTC)

"You're certainly not garnering any inclination for me to attempt an apology," she said coolly.

Not that she thought it needed to be apologized for.

//Yes, well, I'm hardly about to ask you to bend over so I can kiss yer arse, either, luv.// And there was the eyeroll. Really, it was mandatory right about now. //I'm a bit of a lousy snogger, at any rate.//

Still and all, he was going to be the bigger person here and he was going to turn off the music altogether, now. That was just how Jonothon rolled.

... He'd turn it up good and loud the moment it looked like she was absorbed in some book or other. That was also how Jonothon rolled.

Right. And that made him the bigger person.

"I was not asking you to," she said sharply. "All I said was that my understanding that a library was supposed to be quiet."

//And now// Jono pointed out, //the only actual noise in this library just so happens to be you.//

Oh, he was totally the bigger person.

Height-wise, anyhow.

"Yes," she said, very dryly. A flicker of amusement flashing across her face. "Because I'm the only one of us that can talk."

Oh, Rosalind.

It was hardly likely to amuse him though.

Jono was not amused.

Jono was actually shooting to his feet, slamming his hands down, hard, on the desk that was situated between them, and levelling her with a look that demonstrated just how not amused he was, complete with smoke curling up from the edges of his bandages.

//Bloody funny, innit? If you want to point and laugh, gel, now's yer chance. It's not like I bite or anything, is it, now?//

He was shaking. How the hell did this girl manage to get under his skin so much to make him shake? A few deep breaths would help with that, but there were always the obvious technical difficulties to take into consideration, in that regard.

//Now.// Calm. Cool. Relax, Jono. //Do you want a book, or don't you?//

Edited 2010-06-13 16:06 (UTC)

She would like to know that as well. Considering that she'd talked to him for all of five minutes that he was so sensitive...

Rosalind eyed the smoke.

"You're smoking," she said, mildly but with the same dryness still in her voice. He was unsettling, but she was not going to back away. "I was not making fun of your--condition. Merely the irony in you scolding me for talking."

That was almost an apology. In Rosalind-land.

"I am looking for reports," Rosalind continued as if she hadn't stomped all over someone's issues. "On past invasions."

//Reports.//

Jono's voice was dull, at that. Tired. Maybe very pointedly empty as he turned away for a moment and raised a hand to attempt to smooth his bandages down.

//This is hardly a military facility, gel. Th'closest yer likely to find to reports on invasions past would be old newspapers. They're usually dealt with by... well, by the locals.//

He turned back toward her once he was certain that everything that was supposed to stay in still was, and then he shrugged faintly. //Any in particular you wanted to learn about? I wasn't here for many, but might be able to fill in a few gaps, regardless.//

"Anything would be helpful," she said, having been studying him when he'd turned away and keeping her eyes on him once he looked back.

Rosalind hesitated.

"I'm Rosalind."

Not gel.

Jono was eyeing her again, now that she'd supplied a name. Something for him to associate with the attitude, he supposed. And now that she'd given him a name to work with, he could get right back to ignoring that it existed in favour of words like sunshine, gel, and luv.

//Jonothon,// he allowed, lifting a shoulder as though he didn't figure his name mattered much one way or the next. //Jon or Jono, to most people. Hell, stick with Jono if you don't want to confuse th'shite out of whoever yer talkin' to at the time.//

It sort of stuck, that nickname. Of course, she could also refer to him as 'that really touchy boy with the bandages and the weird voice,' and most people would figure it out from there.

//Newspapers are this way, then. C'mon, luv.//

Rosalind settled for profoundly arched eyebrows as he rambled and she followed him.

"The newspapers are likely to have little to do with the tactics used," she ventured. "You said you had experience?"

//Not very bloody much,// Jono admitted, glancing over his shoulder at her momentarily as he picked his way through the aisles toward the newspapers. //I was one of the only people on the island who didn't lose his bleedin' mind th'last time there was a major invasion, though. That has to be good for something, I suppose.//

"Why not?" she ~~demanded~~ asked. "What affected the island?"

//Hallucinogenic fog,// came his reply, perhaps pointedly neutrally. //Took hold of people who inhaled it, made them see things that weren't there. You throw a bunch of people with powers and weapons into the fog and then make them think that everyone else is a monster, and then imagine how well that worked out.//

He shrugged.

//Makin' matters worse, there were real monsters out there, too. It was bleedin' chaos, until people figured out gas masks.//

It amused her, it really did, on some level.

His... disability had kept him from harm. Lucky him.

"Were many hurt?"

//Hurt, maybe,// Jono allowed, and then he stopped and turned to level a look toward her that was equal parts surprised and skeptical. //But none dead. Now, you tell me how in th'world that happens, when there's a naffin' reptile the size of the Empire State Building, stomping around th'waterfront while everybody's out of their bleedin' heads.//

That was what always threw Jono off. All of that destruction, and never anything worse than a trip to the clinic or twelve to show for it, in the end.

"Statistically," she said, disturbed by that. "It's impossible."

Jono nodded, and then crouched down once they'd reached the periodicals, flipping through the newspapers week by week.

//Fandom Island doesn't believe in statistics, luv.//

Crazy, wasn't it, how he could say something like that and mean it?

She leaned against the far shelf and watched him.

And winced at his continued use of the word 'luv'.

"No," she said direly, "it believes in insanity."

She was bitter, yes.

//I certainly won't argue that point,// Jono allowed, rifling through until he came up with the paper that he'd been looking for. He looked it over briefly, and then handed it over. //That's all there is on it. If you want more information than that, I hear th'radio puts... podcasts, or something like that, on the internet. That might almost be yer better bet.//

She glanced down at the paper, glad for something to think about that wasn't--well.

What she wasn't thinking about.

"Would the police station have more detail?" she asked absently as she read the paper. It was... not the mot informative paper ever.

//They might,// Jono mused, //though, as I said, it's generally civilians who toss their cards in to clean up these messes.//

He rifled through the stack some more, looking for anything else that might be useful, and then just shrugged and gave up.

//Yer best bet overall, really, is to speak to people who were there. Documents and radio broadcasts... they miss things. Survivors remember. Often in minute, gory, unsettling detail.//

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