fandomhigh | Library, Thursday [2/12]

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Library, Thursday [2/12]

Cosette had certainly lived without electricity before, so that in and of itself wasn't necessarily too off-putting for her, and it wasn't that she was scared of the dark, but . . . being mostly left to her own devices in the cold and dark brought her back a little too closely to her childhood.

She had a slightly unhappy expression on her face as she went about her library duties today by the light of a battery-powered lantern (no fire near the books, thank you, and she wasn't going to run down her precious phone battery using that as a flashlight all day), and left the front doors propped open just so she wouldn't feel so isolated.

She was actually glad today that the droid baby kept wanting attention; it kept things from getting too quiet, and helped her keep her mind off of other things.

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"Hello, there." Bob wandered through and nodded at her. "Librarian not in?" He didn't smell cigarettes or hear cursing, so he was guessing not.

"Not that I've seen," Cosette answered with a little smile. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The droid baby was quiet for the moment, at least, though that had taken some work.

"Not really." Bob smiled back. "I'm not looking for a book, just hoping to chat. Unless you want to chat with an old man who's bored."

"I don't mind at all," Cosette said quickly. "It's a bit lonely in here today, and I don't ordinarily mind that but I'm not too fond of having to stumble around in the dark to do my duties."

Bob smiled more broadly. "In that case, maybe I can help you." He couldn't do much, but illusions? Yes. Glowing was a speciality.

He reached out a hand and drew a bright squiggle in the air that squirmed itself around into the shape of a light bulb, glowing brightly enough to light up the section they were in. "Hm." He made a thoughtful face at it, grinned at Cosette, and made it a flower instead. "There you are; a flower for a pretty girl."

Yes, she was too young. No, he wouldn't do anything. It didn't mean he couldn't make an observation.

Eh, Cosette didn't think anything of it anyway; her father and uncle would say the same sort of thing to her every time she got a break from her classes and could go visit them in the convent's garden, only occasionally it might be a piece of fruit instead of a flower.

She did laugh, though, delightedly. "Isn't that lovely! I wish I could have a lamp like that. No, several lamps like that! Thank you very much, Monsieur, er . . ."

"Bob," he answered. "Robert de Bainbridge," he added at her 'Monsieur', continuing in French. "I'm a teacher here. And you are?"

"Euphrasie Fauchelevent, but everyone calls me Cosette," she answered in kind. Then, back to English, "Oh! You're the one who teaches the class about defending oneself against magic, aren't you?"

She'd gone over this term's course listing exhaustively. Hush.

"That's me," Bob answered. "And you're the girl who does radio with Éponine. I'm pleased to put a face to the voice."

"So you've met her, then," Cosette said, nodding. "Yes, that's right. Though I'm honestly not sure how exactly we ended up with the job."

"She delivers the post." Bob nodded. "We've met. And I've met those squirrels, too. I'm not entirely sure they know why they choose people for the job."

Too much rum, maybe.

"They're nice," said Cosette, who probably had more patience with the squirrels than half the island. "It's funny, you know, it isn't as if I could understand a word they say, but I'm certain they asked me very nicely if I would do it, even if I can't say how I'm so sure."

And of course she'd agreed, as opposed to certain cohosts of hers who'd been bribed with rum.

"They do make themselves understood, don't they?" Bob shook his head. "Really, they're no more invasive than paparazzi, I suppose. They're just...squirrels."

"Paparazzi . . ." echoed Cosette, who wasn't too familiar with that word. "Well, I do think it's a bit odd how much they like to keep an eye on what we've been doing. I suppose I don't give it as much thought because as you said, they are only squirrels."

Because cute and fuzzy and small totally meant innocuous, right?

"Reporters who like to hide and jump out at famous people," Bob explained. "A lot like the squirrels, but more annoying. And human. Supposedly."

"Oh." Cosette took a moment to consider that, frowning. "And take their pictures, do you mean? I don't think the squirrels are that bad, and anyhow, we aren't famous here, not really."

Most of them, anyway. As far as she knew.

"Yes," Bob agreed. "And I suppose we're all famous to the squirrels. We loom large in their tiny lives."

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Library, Thursday [2/12]

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