fandomhigh | Library [07-11]

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Library [07-11]

Today was a turtleneck day, for Jono. It was a turtleneck and jeans day for Jono. And tomorrow would probably be the same, and maybe even the day after. Just so long as he could spend a few healthy days with a little bit of distance from anything that would remind him of wet leather.

He'd get over the fact that turtlenecks looked more than a little stupid when rolled clear up over one's nose. Sometimes, you just had to look stupid in order to not look terrifying.

His wardrobe choices for the day having been justified, he was going to settle down, reach for the first book he could see that hadn't been re-shelved, and he was going to read. It was Sunday. He was allowed to be a little lazy, at least for a little while, considering he was the aide who tended to work through his lunch breaks, without fail.

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"For a jacket," she said, "they will take your measurements in what you're wearing now."

No need to strip.

"As for covering your mouth... you are a teenager. You are meant to be unusual in the eyes of adults. If you need someone to speak for you, well, I have already said I would go."

//Oh, good,// Jono replied. //God knows I'm horrible at pretending I know sign language.//

No, really. He'd be doomed if he was ever faced with a person who did know it. They'd ask him why he was flapping his hands about, saying complete gibberish with the occasional mention of burritos.

Her lips quirked.

"Perhaps you ought to learn it," she noted. "To make things simpler."

//It wouldn't make it simpler by a long shot,// Jono protested, crossing his arms over his chest. //American sign language differs from British, and so on. And on top of all that I'm doing, learning two non-verbal languages simply so that I can pretend I can't communicate otherwise seems a little...//

Like overkill? Perhaps?

"Prepared?" she asked sweetly. "Covering all your bases?"

//Redundant,// he intoned. //I already have enough on my plate, luv, believe it or not.//

"Preparation is the heart of perfection," she said dryly. "Nice to see you've got your sights set lower."

Rosalind, not everyone had your hangups with perfections.

No, some people were more concerned with the constant focus it took in order to keep wherever they were standing from being reduced to a crater filled with smoldering ash.

//Well, you've already ascertained that I've got bloody low standards in every other aspect of my life. Why should this be any different?//

"My opinions are based on observation," she said, a bit snarkily. "By all means, prove me wrong."

//By learning sign languages,// came Jono's somewhat flat reply. //Two different dialects of it. Because it would be covering my bases, is that it?//

"By working at your job," she said, unimpressed. "Rather than sleeping. By not sitting around in the rain with open injuries."

//And you don't think that th'reason I'm tired at work so often has anything at all to do with th'reason I end up with open injuries in th'first place?//

Jono was similarly unimpressed, but at least he was making an effort to sound reasonable about it.

"Does it?"

See, she could ask flat out.

//Well, it's certainly not th'result of my being up all night, drinking and getting into trouble in th'local bar,// he noted, dryly. //For a myriad of reasons.//

Including but not limited to his own inability to drink, and the bar's strict no-violence stipulations.

"Are you attempting to excuse your weeks of not doing this job as having been busy with another job?"

//I've been doing th'job,// Jono stressed, crossing his arms over his chest. //Just not at bloody hell 'o clock in th'morning, when you wander in.//

A beat. And then another shrug.

//And no, not another job, really. But another duty, certainly.//

"Practice makes perfect," she said, picking through retorts. "In order to juggle your responsibilities as well."

Like he hadn't been, from her perspective.

"As well as dealing with whatever else might come up."

Jono needed to take this moment to send forth as close to a groan as he could muster before thumping his elbows onto the desk and burying his face in his hands.

//But there is no perfect, is there? It's just push, push, and if you fall over making the effort, then you clearly weren't pushing hard enough.//

"I don't believe that," she said coolly, chin going up.

//Then what do you believe?//

"That perfection can be obtained," she said flatly. "That hard work and skill will pay off."

Jono needed to take this opportunity to attempt to stare her down, now, one eyebrow raised slightly, face still framed by his hands.

//For everybody?//

She met his gaze steadily.

"Of course."

//And you really believe I'm not trying hard enough.//

That was the kicker, there. Jono was a hard worker, but life had an interesting way of kicking him in the arse lately, with things entirely out of his element. Serial killers. Demon lords. He'd wanted to grow up to be a musician.

"Without knowing what else is occurring," she said measuredly. "I have to say that you do not appear to be doing so."

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