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Library [9-9]

Wesley was getting the hang of this library thing. He'd gathered a stack of books from various shelves around the place and decided to make a game out of it: he'd read them, then return them to their proper locations when he was done. It was going to be a really fun game.

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Aw, man. Wes reluctantly put down his book, a fascinating insight into some phenomenally dry subject.

"Er. Yes."

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked, softening a little as her eyes flickered to the phenomenally dull text in question. "I had to read radio the other day. The squirrels were all interested in your date with Katniss."

"Oh - it wasn't, er, it wasn't a date," he stammered quickly. "But yes, I'm quite fine. It was a rather short fall. Just from the first or second branch, I believe."

"The squirrels said it was a date?"

Quinn shrugged a little. "I kind of assumed everything that had two people together was about a date," she admitted. "It was more interesting that way. Climbing a tree would be a pretty lame date-date, anyhow."

"Oh! No, no, it was - she was teaching me survival tactics," he explained. "Climbing trees and... avoiding squirrels... and the particular appeal of forked branches when climbing trees, as they tend to be more weight-bearing..."

That was the lamest thing he'd ever said, probably. Hopefully.

"That," Quinn said, sounding half appalled and half awed, "was way more than I have ever thought about climbing trees in my entire life. But squirrels are kind of gross. I say avoid them."

"Squirrels kidnapped you the other night," he pointed out.

"Which is why I know how gross they are," Quinn answered, as if he'd proven her point. "There was acorn drool on my slacks."

That was a pleasant thought.

"Er. Thank you for sharing that."

"Anytime, Wes." Quinn didn't seem abashed at all. "How's life in the library?"

"Quite nice, actually," he said pleasantly. "The selection of books is rather good, and spending the day here is rather calming. How have you been?"

"We got to watch Olympia in film class," Quinn answered. "So ... I got to watch a really hot guy get frozen. But it's a good movie."

"That sounds interesting," he lied politely. "My class today discussed, ah, the ethics of communicating with people from different timelines."

"Like, if you should tell somebody if you know they're going to die next week in your world?" Quinn queried. "I'd want to know."

"I quite agree!" he said emphatically, and just barely managed not to tack on a "Thank you." God. Someone agreed with him, at least. "To withhold that sort of information would just be rude. And counterproductive."

"And it makes it kind of your fault if they get killed, right?" Quinn said. "I don't get how you could not tell somebody."

"Precisely," Wesley agreed vehemently.

"For instance, last term, Faith, a rather loathsome teacher of mine, was trying to gauge the point in my timeline that I was coming from. She began to ask me if she'd done something to me yet, then ascertained that she had not and refused to elaborate on what that something was. From what I could tell it was something unpleasant, which presumably could be avoided if I knew what it was, but she refused to tell me."

Damn frustrating was what it was, even a month later.

Quinn wrinkled her nose. "Would she say why?" she asked. "Or was she just kind of enjoying knowing and not telling you?"

"I believe she felt that telling me would be detrimental," he said dryly. "Of course, this made little sense without an explanation."

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Library [9-9]

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