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 Posted: Mon Aug 11, 2008 4:51 pm
It wasn't the smell of gas or the harassed look of the old, supposedly abandoned garage that caught his attention. No, as Gage wheeled passed the building that was so old it seemed almost a part of the hill it was built beside, it was the sounds that made him pause; the familiar buzz of a drill, the distant and enticing sizzle of a blowtorch and the occasion clink of metal against metal were like music to his ears. The alien child smiled wistfully at the images these noises prompted in his imagination and, suddenly finding himself impossibly curious about the goings on within in the skeleton of the aging landmark, started down the gravel path that would lead him there.
The old garage was situated at the very edge of town, on the same road that led out to Green's farm. He couldn't remember the number of times he'd asked his guardian about the place.
What was it? How come nobody lived there? Could he go check it out?
Of course, she'd answered all of his questions to the best of her ability and insisted that he stay away from the structure that threatened to collapse at any moment.
"It's trespassing, Gage," she'd said one evening at the supper table, "besides, it's only a matter of time before somebody tears it down."
Her naivety never failed to amused him. As if he cared about breaking any stupid law. It wasn't likely that he'd get caught. Besides, even if he was, it was doubtful that the landlord would press charges against a boy of his size. At the worst, he'd get a warning and, at the best, he'd be allowed to launch the wrecking ball himself. Against Green's better advice, Gage had explored the garage on a number of occasions and even come to think of the place as a type of sanctuary. A dark, dangerous and dirty sanctuary, but a sanctuary nevertheless. In many ways, it belonged to him. At least, he felt that it did. There were things in there, personal and private things, that he'd come to treasure.
The gravel on the road was soft and new. It crunched in protested beneath the tires of his second favorite bike as he pushed onwards. It took longer than usual to reach the cement pad that the garage was situated on and Gage was slightly flushed as he eased off the pedals and made his way towards the giant, open doors. There was a small army of men inside, dressed in impossibly dirty clothes and with tools in their hands, working and chumming around with one another. Not one of them looked up as he approached, so Gage didn't feel guilty (not that he would have, anyways) about watching them so openly as they lugged planks of wood and buckets of nails across the room.
They were renovating.
What for?
Gage guessed that somebody had bought the property.
True panic, surprisingly potent and fierce, slithered up his throat and clung to the insides of his mouth. His tongue was so thick that he couldn't talk. Oh, no. Where was it? Where was his bike; the precious 1957 Sportster he'd found, beaten, battered and unloved, in this very garage? They couldn't possibly have taken it, could they?
That was stealing! From him, of all people.
"What's going on here?" his voice was full of more authority than he felt, as he regarded every last soul in the slowly recovering garage with wild contempt.
A tall man with a gut that was too large for both his jeans and his grease stained t-shirt glanced up from his position on the floor, where he'd been kneeling over blueprints and chatting animatedly with a couple of younger men, and stared pointedly at Gage. The boy refused to be intimidated by the bigger man's steely glare. He guessed, due to the amount of grey hair in the stubble on his face, that they were actually very close to the same age. That put them on equal footing, as far he was concerned.
"What does it look like?" he said gruffly, clearly annoyed with the tone Gage had used, and gestured at the shell of the garage with a long, fat arm; "This place needed fixin' up, so I'm fixin' it up. I paid for it."
That conclusion had been simple enough for him to come to on his own. It hadn't taken long for Gage to come to terms with what this particular course of action meant. His sanctuary was off limits now. That, he could accept, so long as he was allowed to keep his beloved sportster.
"Where's my bike?"
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Posted: Mon Aug 11, 2008 5:59 pm
"Your bike?" surprise lit up the big man's face as the full meaning of Gage's question hit him square on the nose. He laughed in delight. It was a joyous sound, and his belly rippled from the effort. Gage imagined that this man might have been St. Nick's much younger, dirtier brother.
"I wondered who'd been fixing it up. What's your name?"
"Gage," the cotton-candy colored boy offered easily, and brushed a lock of stray, white hair out of his eyes. It was starting to get uncomfortably long. Green would be nagging him about a haircut soon, Gage could tell. He had a sixth sense when it came to things like that.
"Its nice to meet you, Gage," the big man's voice and expression seemed genuine enough as he stepped closer, and held out his massive hand. Gage tried not to stare at the size of his fingers as he shook it, "I'm Harold, Harold Sterling."
It was hard to remember to be cordial when his most treasured possession was nowhere in site and possibly missing forever. The alien child smiled, despite himself, and nodded at the contractor.
"It's nice to meet you, as well. Now; do you know where my bike is?"
Another laugh. This one was even more amused than the first. "I do, but I'm afraid you might have a bit of a fight on your hands. Charlie doesn't like to share."
"Neither do I."
Harold cocked an eyebrow at this declaration, and tittered once. It was a strange sound coming from a man of his size. Gage did his best to ignore it, and mimicked the older man's expression.
"Eh, alright," Harold shrugged, obnoxiously confident, and cupped his hands around his wide mouth; "Chaaaaarlie! Get your scrawny a** out here!" His voice boomed and echoed off the insides of the garage, startling a number of the workers within. Something fell and somebody swore.
There was movement at the other side of the garage and a door that Gage had never seen before (it had been buried behind too much garbage) opened with a squeak. A tall, wide figure stood in the door. Gage could tell at once, even from this distance, that Charlie did not have a scrawny a**.
With a delighted grin, Harold waved the figure towards them. Gage tried not to look surprised as Charlie, who had more curves than was proper for any normal man, stepped closer. He'd never seen such a tall girl before. She towered over him and a number of the men, and her obvious resemblance to Harold wasn't lost on him. Everything about Charlie was tall and wide, like Harold, but she wasn't fat. Thick was a better word for it; built like a brick rather than a willow tree. She wore a pair of stained and torn jean overalls over top of a loose, white t-shirt.
"This is my daughter Charlie," Harold clapped the dark haired teenager on the shoulder and winked mischievously at her. Charlie simply looked confused. She stared down at him with a pair of warm, chocolate colored eyes.
"What's going on?" her voice was sweetly rough. Gage liked it immediately.
"Gage, here, says that sportster you found belongs to him. He's the one whose been fixing it up."
"Really?" nothing about Charlie's voice had changed. Her eyes were still just as warm as before, but they were laced with something else; something that he couldn't decipher. Did she think he was funny? Did she want to clobber him over the head with a wrench?
"It's the truth," Gage informed her with a nod of his head. Harold left them, then, and returned to his blueprints on the floor across the room. His men, who seemed more like friends than employees, looked relieved to have him back.
"I see," Charlie mused out loud. As Gage took in her formidable posture and confusing expression, he almost wished that Harold had asked him to follow him. He didn't want to talk to Charlie any longer. If he had to, he would steal the sportster back later.
"Yeah, so, can I have it back?" he tightened his grip on the handles of his mountain bike, and gazed up at the older girl intently.
"What do you know about any 1957 Sportster, squirt?"
"I know enough." It wasn't difficult for him to keep his cool. Technically, he was much older than she was. Gage understood the way that she would perceive him, as an ignorant and demanding little boy, and he knew that he was at a disadvantage. With a sigh, he decided to give her some more information; "I know enough to repair it, don't I?"
After stumbling upon the naked remains of the bike, which he'd assumed was at least as old (if not older) than the garage it's self, Gage had poured himself into research. It hadn't taken long for him to realize that he did not have the manpower or the supplies required to breathe new life into the building, which had been his first intention, but there were hundreds of spare parts lying around the farm and enough books in the town library on motorcycles for him to recognize what needed to be done. The 1957 Harley-Davidson Sportster had become more than just a project. It had become his baby. Granted, all of the work that he'd done on the bike so far hadn't been completely legitimate, as he'd had to 'borrow' a number of the tools and supplies necessary to fulfill his task- and it still wasn't finished.
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Posted: Mon Aug 11, 2008 6:40 pm
Neither of them spoke. For what seemed to be a really long time, but was really only a couple of minutes, the only sounds that penetrated the night air were those off the workers in the background. Harold was obviously in charge and, as Gage pointedly ignored Charlie's stare, the alien boy found himself impressed with the large man's work ethic. He was firm, but kind and treated almost all of his employees with the respect that they deserved. In fact, most of them looked more like little boys at play than grown men at work. There only seemed to be one exception to Harold's infectious good nature and cheer. A younger man, who would have been attractive if he didn't look so exhausted, was constantly badgered by his boss to 'quit lolly-gagging' or to 'pick up his shorts.'
"What're you lookin' at?" Charlie's rough voice derailed his mental train as she turned, slowly, to consider the object of his attention. Gage blinked up at her, surprised that she'd spoken after all this time.
"That's my boyfriend," her announcement caught him off guard, but Harold's hostile behavior towards the haggard young man suddenly made sense.
"He looks a lot older than you are," Gage spoke without thinking.
"Yeah, well," Charlie shrugged and wiped her hands on the front of her overalls. They left a large streak of oil. "He's not that much older than I am. Only five years."
"Still older," Gage mimicked her shrug, and glanced around him once more. He turned towards the door she'd come from earlier and pointed at it, "Is my bike in there?"
There was silence between them again. Gage regarded her cooly, through narrowed eyes, as the wheels in his head jumped into first gear. He took his time as he considered everything about her; there was dirt under her fingernails, dust in her hair and oil all over her clothes. She wasn't working on the building, like the rest of her father's men. She had a project of her own.
Gage's eyebrows flew up, way passed his hairline, as the answer hit him.
"My bike is in there!" He hissed through clenched teeth and, before she could stop him, the lanky boy hopped off his mountain bike and raced towards the open door of the back room. Sensing that a look out might be necessary, his third-eye made it's first appearance of the night. It was carefully hidden beneath the hair on his head, but Gage could see passed that. Charlie wasn't following him yet. She simply stood there, at the entrance to the garage, with a thoughtful expression on her plainly wide face. A couple of men, including Harold, looked up as he approached. Gage paid them no mind.
He burst into the room, theatre style, and stopped cold at the scene in front of him. His breath hitched in his throat.
There, in the center of the room, stood his baby; prim, polished and complete.
"I specialize in motorcycles," Charlie's rough voice was soft behind him as she came to the door, "I'm sorry, if you wanted to finish her on your own- but, I just couldn't help myself."
"It's fine," he murmured and took a couple of tentative steps towards his favorite sportster. "How'd you get her finished so soon?"
"It wasn't hard," Gage could practically hear the grin in her voice, "I told you, I specialize in these babies. I've got two at home, plus spare parts jumping out the wahzoo."
There was a pause and then she continued; "She's older, so I had to ask my dad for help. He had some friends pull some strings. Hey- how come it took you so long to look for her?"
"I've had a lot of extra chores to do at home, recently," Gage shrugged simply. He bit his bottom lip as he hefted his right leg over the seat and settled down onto it.
"Parents," Charlie laughed and smiled at him, "I suppose your mum doesn't like the idea of you riding these thing? Too bad for you, you'll have to wait."
"What do you mean I'll have to wait?" Gage sounded more confused than outraged, but it was obvious that he didn't like the idea. She was his baby. There wouldn't be any stopping him, if he wanted to ride her.
"Look at you!" she laughed at him once more and gestured at the sportster, trying to explain to him what she meant without words, "You're not old enough. Dad would shoot me before I let somebody as small and young as you are ride her."
It wasn't the first time he'd felt frustration with his new form. She was right, of course, no adult in their right minds would let a child cruise around on a motorcycle- even if he had rebuilt most of it from scratch on his own.
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Posted: Fri Oct 03, 2008 6:15 pm
Gage didn't look up as Charlie took a seat on a worn out stool. He was comfortably aware of the way she watched him as he, in turn, examined his baby. He could tell that she was studying him, almost exactly the same way he was scrutinizing his beloved sportster. It didn't unnerve him. Charlie could stare for as long as she wanted. He didn't mind. How could he be irritated with somebody who loved working with their hands as much as he did?
It wasn't long before Gage remembered his manners. Now that it was clear Charlie had no intention of stealing his baby from him, he couldn't help but feel an obligation to be kind. He wanted her to like him.
"Thank you," he finally turned to look her in the eye, "for finishing my work. You know, if you hadn't done such a beautiful job, I'd probably be pretty pissed off."
At that, Charlie laughed louder than she had before. It was a throaty sound, that wasn't quite as infectious as her father's, but still very close. Gage laughed too. Really, he didn't feel like he had a choice. There was something innately charming about Charlie. After all, he hadn't spent more than a half an hour with her- and he was already not looking forward to the moment he had to say goodbye.
"No problem, squirt, I had a blast fixin' her up, even if I don't get to keep her."
Gage couldn't tell if she was trying to hint at him that he should let her have it. He didn't really care. It wasn't like he'd asked her to jump in and complete his project. She just had. The supposedly reformed criminal wasn't about to just hand over his most prized possession, but there was no need for him not to share.
"I appreciate it," he flashed her what he liked to think of as his most dazzling smile and then exclaimed, "let's take her for a spin!"
To his surprise, Charlie didn't take him up on his offer immediately. She cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips, blue eyes flickering across his pink face. Despite himself, Gage felt blood rush to his cheeks. He was sure that he hadn't said anything wrong, or anything impolite. There was no need for such a sour expression.
Whatever.
With a derisive snort, the alien child turned away from her and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and a shock of pure ecstasy shot through his veins at the sound. The buzz and hum of a healthy engine were like music to his ears. There was no sweeter thrill than this; nothing could possibly measure up. Not ever.
Beside him, Charlie chuckled. Gage glanced sideways at her.
"So, freckles," he grinned at her. The delicious sound of the bike had thoroughly wiped away his memory of her rude behavior. "What do you say?"
Charlie's merry expression faltered, but did not revert to its former scrunched up appearance. She nodded. "Are you going to let me drive?"
"Do you think your father would let somebody my size leave this garage on top of a bike like this without some kind of adult supervision?"
"No," she shook her head, but there was a smile as bright as the sun on her face, "he wouldn't."
"Well than, I guess you have to take the reins," Gage shrugged and shifted backwards, so that there was enough room for her larger frame to sit in front. He gestured invitingly at the seat in front of him and chuckled as she struggled to contain her excitement. Charlie let out a girlish squeal and practically ran over to him.
Once she sat squarely on top, the dark-haired girl tossed a delighted glance over her shoulder. She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip as she considered him, and then pointed at a bench that was close enough for him to reach without getting up. There, amongst a clutter of tools and dirty cloths, were two old motorcycle helmets.
"They aren't pretty," Charlie said softly, "but they'll keep your brains where they belong. Grab them, will you?"
Gage, who would have preferred riding without the safety gear, swallowed his complaints and made a big show of collecting the helmets. He groaned exaggeratedly from the effort, to let her know that he wasn't pleased about this idea. Charlie snickered and rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored him. When Gage finally righted himself, he handed her the better helmet. Either Charlie didn't notice or didn't care, because she kept her mouth shut and simply put it on.
She was as eager as he was to get this show on the road. He didn't have to see her face to know that she was anxious. Energy radiated off her body in waves. He could practically feel her anticipation, because it was identical to his own.
"Are you ready, squirt?" she righted the bike, kicked up the stand with her heal and tested the throttle. They eased forwards a couple of inches. "Hold on to me."
Gage, cautious of where he put his hands, obliged and pinched her sides to make her hurry. He'd been waiting a painfully long time for this moment. Of course, this wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it. In his head, he'd always been the first one to get to drive it. Still, life usually called for compromises. His bike was finished and, with a big man like Harold making the rules, Gage knew that it would be a long time before he'd get to sit in the front. Even if it was his bike.
This was the only way and, anyways, he was confident in Charlie. It was clear that she knew what she was doing.
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Posted: Fri Dec 26, 2008 2:07 pm
The Junkyard
An RP with Bailey
---
It was quite possibly his most favorite place in the world. The entire vicinity reeked of a nameless stench which, if Gage were to guess at the source, was likely a combination of old gas, rust and rotting mice. How lovely. Really, it smelled kind of horrible and, yet, the cotton-candy skinned youth couldn't bring himself to think anything other than; heaven. He grinned like a little boy at Christmas time as he curled his fingers around the chain link fence that barred his (immediate) entrance and pressed himself against the metal. His eyes danced this way and that, in eager search of the obnoxiously fat watchman whose job it was to keep the likes of him as far away from the spare parts and crumbling vehicles inside. There was no sign of him. This was good.
Gage was practically dancing with glee as he ducked down, and shoved himself face first into the earth under the fence. There was a whole there, hidden carefully behind grass that grew as long as his legs, It was almost impossible to find, if you didn't already know about it or hadn't watched him crawl inside. Gage had dug it himself months ago, when he'd first discovered this wondrous place, and had ensured that it remained safely hidden by carefully disguising it underneath a broken down hippie van on the other side. It wasn't a difficult trip. Almost constant use had made the tunnel smooth and simple to maneuver in. Every time he ventured inside, it was easier to escape.
When he finally breached the dirty surface of the earth within the junkyard, Gage, who was covered head to toe in dust and grime, reached up and heaved himself up into the back of the van. The bottom was missing- this was not his doing. Gage didn't care to know how the vann had gotten to be the way that it was. The only thing that mattered was that it protected him from the watchman.
The ailen child chuckled merrily to himself, rubbed his hands together and exited via the backdoor. The sun beat like a drum against his back and made him sweat, but he paid little notice. This was his playground. It was time to have fun.
Bailey seriously wondered where his brain was some days. He was usually a pretty clean cut guy who didn't like messing around in places like junkyards or climbing through holes in the dirt. But excessive curiosity, boredom, and just kind of wanting to do something that wasn't all clean and nice for a change, had drawn him to this place.
The red skinned boy had taken a few looks at the junkyard in passing. Observed it and observed it's guard. Today, he'd finally decided to try and find a way in. And as that meant getting dirty, his usual neat suits for a pain of worn blue jeans, a black tank top, and a leather jacket all borrowed from his uncle. For a change, with the hair and the earring, Bailey actually looked kind of cool.
The problem of getting into the junkyard he'd previously planned to just investigate and solve. However, upon arrival, he was just in time to see Gage sneaking under the fence through some hole or another. Being that it was probably one of the only ways in, Bailey wandered over after he was pretty sure the other boy had come out and hunted it down till he found it.
Crawling through got him already kind of dusty and dirty and the place smelled, but all in all it was pretty much the difference he'd been looking for. Poking his head out into the van, the ex-criminal raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting place you've got here."
There were so many broken down vehicles, so many spare parts. They'd come in handy, later. At the garage. He knew that Charlie would ask where he'd found them, and Gage also knew that he wouldn't be able to lie to her. It didn't matter. He trusted her not to tell, especially because she wanted the things he'd come to collect just as much as he did. Gage tingled with a kind of earthy satisfaction as he looked this way and that and tried to determine where he ought to start looking. All the while, he kept a careful look out for Watchman What's-His-Name. He was so focused and so intent on these two most necessary of tasks that Gage did not notice as the other intruder discovered his secret.
The pink skinned youth was about to start his hunt when Bailey spoke, and his heart gave a little jerk of surprise. For an awful, gut wrenching moment Gage thought that he must have been caught. Fearful and excited, with the hairs standing up on his neck, Gage jumped forwards just a little bit and whirled on his heals to stare at the source of the voice. His third eye, the one that moved around within his head and appeared whenever it was needed most, popped out in the back. It was white, and nearly invisible behind his hair, which was a nice perk when it came to escaping and evading big men and their hungry dogs.
"Thank you," Gage managed to remain cordial once he'd recognized the skin that belonged to the voice as a child- and one who'd snuck in behind him. It wasn't everyday somebody managed to surprise him and, even though this other boy was a stranger, Gage reasoned that they'd be in equal amounts of trouble for trespassing if they were caught. They weren't quite associates, but the red skinned boy might proof handy if they had to make a quick run for the exit. So, he was naturallly inclined to be friendly. Not that he wouldn't have been, anyways.
"I wish I could say it all belongs to me," he smirked, "but, I've always been a pretty rampant collector." There was a short pause, in which Gage took a moment to look the other intruder up and down. "What are you doing here?"
"Exploring for the most part. This place makes me uncharacteristically nosy and I've wanted to check it out for a bit. " Bailey explained, climbing out of the hole and into the open a bit more. Part of him was saying 'this is illegal, get out of there'. The rest of him was saying 'So?' which kind of shut up his desire to get out of there.
"And you? Just collecting, I guess?"
Uncharacteristically nosy? Gage had to laugh at that. He didn't know enough about the stranger (hence, the word) to contemplate whether or not he was lying. Nor did he really care to. Gage liked everyone, regardless of their appearance, past or, hell, sometimes even their personality. Once, not so long ago, he'd been a notorious people person and one of the most sought after criminals on his planet. Now he was just an easily amused little boy, who liked to sneak into junkyards and fix things. If it wasn't so much fun, it would have been a little depressing.
"Yes," when he nodded his long bangs fell into his eyes. Gage, who looked kind of dirty and unkempt anyways, left it alone, "I like to collect things."
Usually, Gage would have loved to just stand and chat, but this was more of a business venture than anything else. The watchman would be back before long, and it was important that he have the things he'd come for. They ought to move, especially if they wanted to keep his home-made entrance a secret.
"Why don't I show you around?" Gage grinned and gestured grandly at the heaps of metal behind him.
"Yeah we probably should move or something. I may not be scared of getting arrested but getting chased and manhandled by that jerk doesn't sound pleasant to me." he commented, thinking on that annoying watchman he'd saw previously when he'd considered visiting this place.
"That'd be cool." the dark haired kid replied, grinning to Gage and walked over towards him a bit more. "Lead the way."
"Aw," Gage laughed at the way the other boy described the watchman, and felt oddly compelled to defend the man he usually gave so much trouble. "Phil's not so bad. He makes some pretty amazing brownies."
The first time he'd officially met the watchman, which had been a little over three months ago, had been on an occasion when he'd almost been caught stealing. The watchman, who'd never actually had any proof Gage was sneaking in and taking things that didn't belong to him, had followed the pink skinned youth home one night after finding him lurking around the junkyard and confronted his mother about his odd behavior. Green had never been the type of lady to take any abuse about her children from anyone and, even though she suspected that the watchman's claims might be true, she'd told him exactly where he could stick all of his spare parts so that they couldn't possibly go missing.
The next day, carrying a tray of brownies and a bouquet of flowers, Phil had arrived on their doorstep once more and apologized formally for his accusations. It had amused Gage greatly, and was one of his fondest memories. He swore that he'd never forget it. Still, he'd started being a lot more careful about his little business trips to and from the junkyard.
"If you'll follow me," he grinned and beckoned to Bailey with two curled fingers as he moved towards the largest pile of junk, "we should really find someplace less obvious to hang out."
Gage was proud of the way he used this world's slang and strange lingo. It made him feel more at home.
Bailey nodded, following the other boy. "Yes, hanging out." he laughed a little, putting the same odd emphasis on the word that Gage did. Not really because he was trying to mock Gage or even because he wasn't used to the slang - it was just a term he'd always found funny.
"I don't know if I want to know what sort of situation would cause you to know how brownies that guy makes taste." Bails responded with a laugh.
"Phil and me?" Gage tossed a smirk over his shoulder, "We have a hate-hate relationship, but he's kind of bugging over my Green. He thinks she's radical, and brought some sweets over to impress her once."
There it was. The slang again. It didn't really matter to him whether or not he used the terms correctly. The point was that he did. That had to count for something. Right?
"That doesn't mean he wouldn't jump at the chance to run his dogs after me, though. So long as she didn't find out how or who murdered me."
The lanky youth whistled merrily and swayed his arms as he walked. The junkyard was his special, personal heaven; not even Charlie, who he considered to be one of his dearest friends, followed him there. It wasn't because he wouldn't have taken her. Really, she'd just never asked to come along. Whenever they needed a part for something, he'd get it. Charlie and Harold didn't ask questions. It was enough to have the pieces that they needed in order to fix things.
Nevermind that it was technically stealing.
Gage was, by nature, a generous person. He didn't mind sharing his secret entrance Bailey- so long as the other boy kept his mouth shut. He glanced sideways at the red skinned boy. It wasn't something that he was worried about. Bailey may have been a stranger but, if he did snitch, Gage was fully prepared to take him down too.
"I like to call this place my secret garden," he announced grandly as he let Bailey into a wide glade of machinery. They were surrounded on all sides, except for the way they'd come in, by old and worn out cars; some of which dated as far back as the fifties.
It was magnificent. Gage inhaled deeply.
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Posted: Tue Jan 20, 2009 4:15 pm
Gettin' Into Trouble
An RP with Ajiel
---
Ajiiel snuck quietly through the library. She never had much need for books-- sure, she'd pick out a couple of books for book reports for school, but she didn't make a habit of this sort of haunt. She was smart enough already!
Snickering, she pulled out the pocket full of cherry bombs she'd been carrying, heading for the bathroom. Unfortunately, she must have looked as guilty as she was, because one of the librarians stood in front of her before she could make it through the door.
"What are you up to, little girl?" he asked, eyes full of suspicion. She hid her hands behind her back,
"Uh...I..uh....have to go potty...?" her attempt at sweet an innocent failed miserably, even she knew that.
"What's in your hands?"
"Uhhh..."
The library was a place that he enjoyed. Gage, who lived more for things with gears that ticked and puffed smoke than anything else, also had a great love for anything (and anyone) who knew more than he did; which was the truth of books. There was so much information in the library; so much that he was unfamiliar with, yet longed to understand and to know.
The pink skinned youth was curled peacefully in a corner with a book about trains opened in his lap when Ajiel tried to sneak by. He had just come from the garage and was, like always, a little dirty, but he was a regular. The librarians seemed to know and to trust him. Or, at the very least, they'd come to accept his presence as a kind of inevitability.
He watched curiously as the unfamiliar girl was interrogated, and tried to peer right through her hands. What was she holding? It couldn't have been a book.
"I hope you're not trying to cause trouble," the librarian seemed to glare right through her. Sighing, she realized must have hit this library before, even if she was fairly certain she hadn't. Someone must have warned him about her.
"I...wouldn't cause trouble," she put the cherry bombs back into her pocket slowly,
"I'll...go to the bathroom at home."
She started to walk away and the librarian watched but said nothing and made no steps towards her. She rolled her eyes. Stupid man. She'd just come back and be more careful next time! She spotted Gage out of the corner of her eye, certain she'd seen him around ICRS,
"Hiyah!"
Gage was intent as watched the exchange between the slightly familiar girl and the librarian. His eyes fluttered back and forth from face to face, but they always, always came back to rest on her hands. A niggling curiosity encouraged him to sneak closer, so that he could get a better look at what was inside, but logic kept him in his corner. Even if he did creep a little closer, it wasn't like he'd be able to see what she was holding. The girl was going through a lot of trouble to keep it a secret.
And, so, he stayed where he was and simply observed. There was a certain level of entertainment here; similar to the way he felt during a good movie. Gage suddenly found himself craving popcorn.
He was so intrigued by this girl and the mischievous sparkle in her eye that it didn't occur to him that he'd been staring until after she greeted him. Taken aback, it was a moment or two before Gage remembered to speak, but when he did, it was with his habitual laid-back charm.
"Hello," he returned with a friendly nod of his head. His eyes flickered to her pocket, where she'd hidden her mysterious trinket, but he didn't say anything other than that.
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