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 Posted: Mon Aug 19, 2013 10:17 pm
If you are kind, then you will like me... Ruthie glanced over her book on the history of French-American cuisine at the black-haired boy across the shop. She stopped in a once before, and noticed him at the piano, and a sucker for pianists or anyone who could decide right or wrong efficiently and effectively, she made a note to return and hopefully gain his attention, interest, phone number, etc. but did he notice her, cowering behind her book? A braver girl would have approached or waved, but not Ruthie, for she fled from the shy ones. They seemed so guarded, and even if they interested her like old cartographer's tools and forgotten journals, she feared their rejection and criticisms would ache, and not the once-in-a-while-my-foot-hurts ache, but the bones-cracking, mind throbbing, heart-wrenching ache of rejection by an innocent, uninterested stranger.
Yet, she found no reason to consider this because she was just a purple-haired girl in a bookstore, reading about Hollandaise and the introduction of goose into Parisian restaurants. She couldn't even cook in her apartment--too afraid of starting fires--but she appreciated the concept of French-American cuisine--something old meeting something new, and if they ever spoke, would he think of her as old or new? Maybe in-between? They could be gray. She liked gray. Gray meant could never wrong and maybe right--the most logical of positions, though it meant she would fail others, who expected her their shining beacon of moral rightness.
She glanced at the boy--accidentally making eye contact. Ugh. No. Now he would think she liked him, and she couldn't have him think that. Too soon for eye-tag, this constant glancing up and down and back and forth in coy displays of affection. She returned to her book. Focus on the words...Focus on the words...Strickenized Hey! Let me know if this works!
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Posted: Mon Aug 19, 2013 10:34 pm
Were there no customers in the shop, he would be playing piano. Perhaps a bold piece, written primarily in forte and with an allegretto speed, possibly something in an unusual key? No point in thinking about it now, though. Some painfully curious customer slipped through the doors and now perused their wares, effectively stifling the range of his activities.
Not that his sister's presence helped.
She still bustled about the back room, organizing and cataloguing the plethora of books he left from his previous shifts in there. In a moment of compassion, though more accurately described as cruelty, their mother decided they should swap work loads for the day. After all, is Alois allowed to stay on his feet for so long? Surely he needed to sit down once in a while. Surely he needed to sit down and discover the utter disgust of dealing with the general public. Yes, she was quickly stepping into his father's shoes - a role he once thought confined to gender. Oh, how wrong he was...
In his boredom, he began skimming the various purchases noted in their ledger Sometimes he'd write marginal notes, something entirely childish and unrelated to the subject matter, but the thought of someone discovering them at the end of the month established it as a worthy endeavor. However, he gave up this practice with the addition of a stranger - the very woman who perused the culinary section at a snail's crawl. Now he forsook the ledger and set about ghosting his fingers across the edge of the desk, as if playing the keyboard just beneath its cover. If anything, possibly the drumming noise would drive this new patron out of the shop.
If only he were that lucky.
One quick glance in her direction revealed that she examined him as well. He didn't relent - there was no need. Rather, his gaze lingered on her, as if he hadn't quite determined whether to force her out of the shop through any manipulative means he could fathom, or allow her to continue her browsing in peace. She hadn't quite done anything to piss him off, though that didn't write her out of his suspicion. A number of things might be amiss:
She could be a shoplifter.
She could be an egotist.
She could be a flatterer.
Maybe it was time to give her that nudge toward the exit. "Find everysing you need?" He asked, while his unblinking gaze lingered on her. He didn't bother to hide the mix of boredom and slight irritation from his voice.
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Posted: Mon Aug 19, 2013 11:13 pm
Oh noooo. She beckoned him with her glance, and there he stood, waiting, anxious. Why did he stare so half-focused, and his tone, though steady, seemed tired? Annoyed? Play it safe. she thought. If you're gentle, he won't harm you. He needed to test the limits to see how much she could take. After all, he had an incentive to keep her in the shop. If she stayed, she could purchase. Ruthie just needed to show him she would, and if she could invest him in her decision-making, all the better.
Then that leaves an opening for me-the-person instead of me-the-customer.
She acknowledged that he must have felt some interest, or else he would have left her alone to browse. The irony, though, of wishing he would speak with her, only to have him there, alone, asking questions, and her, terrified.
"Oh yes!" she laughed, putting back the book. She smiled. How long did it take walls to erode? It depended on the rock. She would test him too. "But I'm looking for something about the anarchist movements of the 1960s for class. I know it's a jump from cuisine, but it seemed so interesting..." She leaned against the shelf. "It must be nice to work among so many books." She narrowed her gaze. "How could you ever feel bored?"
She wanted something, but what?
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Posted: Mon Aug 19, 2013 11:27 pm
His traipsing fingers ceased their silent song when she addressed him. A simple 'yes' would've sufficed, but...
Now she's trying to engage him in ******** ground his teeth with slow, working vigor. She spoke and her thoughts spooled out into a jumbled mess. She must've had a fascination with cooking, else she wouldn't have bothered with the book. Obviously she had a problem with staying focused on less-than-enticing tasks, or she would've made a beeline for the proper section, selected her book, purchased it, and left his life for good.
The German ignored the majority of her response, as it held little importance with him. If she was shopping in a bookstore, then she could obviously read. If she could read, then she could follow signs. if she could follow signs, then she could arrive at the appointed section for her book. If she could arrive at the appointed section for her book, then she could purchase it and get the ******** out. How hard could it possibly be? Did he need to hold her hand throughout the trek? Perhaps he lacked the patience for people that he used to possess, or he simply couldn't tolerate Americans and their oblivious nature. Maybe it wasn't even the culture at fault - maybe all that time spent in the Negaverse sharpened his taste for genocide.
"Yes, how could you?" He echoed, devoid of amusement. Was she trying to make small talk now? Maybe he should've kept to himself until she was ready to make her purchase and leave. Better yet, he should've irritated Katarin into switching with him. "You always find a way."
Staring her down didn't work, so he elected to avoid her altogether. No eye contact, no acknowledgement of her existence. No, he had more important tasks to focus on, like memorizing all the nuances in a piece of music he recently acquired. It proved a far better use of his time than bantering with yet another perplexing customer.
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Posted: Mon Aug 19, 2013 11:58 pm
She frowned. How could she manipulate someone with this...anger? It blocked her winks and grins and turned her questions about books and work into frustration. She heard it in his echo and saw it when he looked away. Of course, a punk like this would have sent her away, but she liked him--believed they could have at least spooned if she played gently, testing, waiting.
You're very bad at this, she wanted to say. Unless, of course, you don't want it. Do you want it? She sighed. If she pulled away, then would he follow? She imagined him returning to his piano, banging the keys to push her out of the bookshop. GET. HER. OUT. GET. HER. OUT. No. To maintain her territory and get his number, she would stay.
She hated working for numbers, though.
"How do you mean?"" she asked, drifting to the Politics Section. By allowing him to shepherd her closer to her main objective, she hoped to compensate for lost territory with his interest. She laughed. "Too much knowledge? Too many resources?"
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Posted: Wed Aug 21, 2013 6:30 am
And now she was laughing at him. Wonderful.
When was this day going to end? A glance at the mismatched, modern clock on his desk confirmed his worst suspicions: he was only two hours into his shift. Surely his sister was getting bored in there by now? However, with her propensity for mundane, repetitive tasks, he suspected she was quite content. It was likely that she wouldn't emerge from the back room until he reminded her of her lunch shift, and even then she may as well just eat in there and continue her work.
Should he even respond to her question, or pretend he didn't hear her mocking remarks? Might as well play the fool; if she thought poorly enough of him, she'd leave for certain. "No. It's..." He trailed off, eyes searching the desk for a modicum of a hint toward where to go. How was he supposed to answer a question like that? "Even zough it's a bookstore, I can't read here. Katarin can, because she can block out ze rest of ze world, but I can't." And he remembered the thousand times when he thought he might catch a break to read, and only managed to skim the same sentence repeatedly while a customer shuffled around, humming to herself. But was he really going to complain about his job to her? No - that sounded far too mundane.
If she was going to talk to him regardless, he had to steer the conversation himself or risk perpetual boredom.
So what might he disturb her with? He could speak of the news documentary on the terrorists and their counterparts, or take a risk and choose a subject she might find to her distaste, or he could simply find some reason to excuse himself from the counter. If he was especially fortunate, he might venture forth with a topic he liked and find her leaving the shop soon after. So what fascinated him now? A budding interest came to mind, something secretive, unknown even to Alexandre for the moment. But, he didn't want to suffer any backlash from his curious endeavors.
"Let me tell you somesing about zis bookstore. It's run by my family, so naturally my sister will mind ze store. We haf' a set schedule on who does, and anyone zat visits ze bookstore frequently catches wind of zis. And zey avoid my days. So, most of ze time when I work ze front, no one comes in unless zey'f never been here before. You must be new, because you picked ze wrong day to haf' a chat wis' one of ze staff." He sighed, mostly to himself, and felt around one of his pockets. When he realized he was searching for cigarettes, he usurped one of the pens from the desk instead and pressed it between his fingers as if it assumed the form of a cancer stick. Much heavier, much different center of balance, but it would suffice. "And you're heading in ze wrong direction. Politics is over zere." He gestured toward the genre with his pen.
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Posted: Wed Aug 21, 2013 10:27 am
Finally! An opening! She aimed for his heart: She said, "Well, actually, I only came by because of your playing. I could probably buy the book online." Oh, it seemed so blunt, but she may never see him again, she told herself, or she would avoid the bookshop, or just avoid his shift. Yes, she could avoid him for eternity...
Still, she wanted to try.
"It's also unfortunate that you can't concentrate on the literature." She brushed back her hair. "Because it's such a shame to surround yourself with knowledge and barely take it in."
She hoped that would recover her anxiety from her bluntness about his playing, but only sunk deeper into her despair. Obviously I've said too much. It's pointless to tell if the words struck true.
If she moved toward Politics, would he follow? She couldn't tell. He seemed so grounded...Perhaps she could play on his sympathies? Either way, it wouldn't erase what she had said. She drifted backward, turned toward the books and closed her eyes.
"Sorry."
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Posted: Wed Aug 21, 2013 10:22 pm
How could she have heard him playing? If she wandered in and he didn't notice before, then how many others might've heard the same? His performances were a highly personal matter - no one should even know about them but himself, yet some stranger brought it up in conversation as if it were nothing. As if any day she could walk into a ******** piano concert. When did he become so lax about the whole affair? Did he actually want people to walk in and chastise him for hitting an incorrect note, or playing in forte rather than mezzo-forte? Was he just hoping for someone to tell him he can't pedal worth a s**t?
While lost in thought from her reply, he chewed the butt of the pen relentlessly. Part of the plastic snapped in his mouth, which called him back to reality: if he kept this up, he'd have blue teeth for a week. Alois relegated the pen to a cigarette role soon after.
"... You're looking for somesing, aren't you? What is it, zen? Piano lessons? You already asserted zat you could just buy ze book online, so you'f come here for a reason ozzer zan ze purchase. Were you looking for ze musty smell of books? Someone old and well-read to discuss your topics wis' you? Some background music while you browse around?" He retreated to chewing the pen once more, despite the cracked plastic. "If you're really so apologetic, zen you'll quit beating around ze bush and tell me what you're really looking for." At least if he could address her concerns, or inclinations, he wouldn't have to deal with this anymore. The bookstore would revert to its typically silent demeanor, bereft of this foreign life.
He scrawled out a few final notes into the ledger he combed through previously, and tossed the book into the bottom of a filing cabinet. With a resounding slam, he shut the door and stood. It came to his attention that the girl intended to meander around the store until he physically showed her where to go, so he may as well treat this meeting akin to ripping a bandage off - the quicker he accomplished her little tasks, the sooner the anguish of dealing with another human being would end.
Upon approaching her, Alois was rather taken aback by her appearance. He didn't expect her to look quite like she fell out of a high fantasy book. Lively purple hair, gold eyes brushed and slightly tarnished with age, as if coveted for all they've seen. His gaze wouldn't linger on her long - soon after, he turned from her and headed toward the Politics section that she so adamantly skirted. "Over here," he muttered, with a slight wave of his hand.
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Posted: Wed Aug 21, 2013 10:49 pm
Did he chew his pen in embarrassment or shame? Nooo. Perhaps she overestimated his confidence. Granted, he could have felt annoyed that she heard him, but who played the piano in a bookstore and expected no one to hear? Clearly, the man was an exhibitionist, albeit a shy one! Could she join him in this realm of false shock? Maybe. She played along before (Though you're single now, she thought. It might not have been as successful as you think...). Everyone had some sense of humor, though, right?
What made the bookkeeper laugh?
She couldn't tell.
Maybe...Maybe she would do something crazy! Throw it out there! Ask him out! He gave her the perfect opening, asking her what she wanted, and she said, "I, um...I--!"
But too late. He already moved to the Politics section.
Ugh. Shy little butterfly. Can't even catch a break...
She took a deep breath and followed. Just...Just breathe. He couldn't hurt her, right? She controlled her fate...She could charm and intrigue him--no matter how cold. All things melt. All things crumble.
"Thank you," she said. Why are you like this? "You're very..." Not efficient. After all, they chatted during the entire time they could have searched for books. Not kind. After all, he had that tone. "...Cooperative." She smiled. "You've been so helpful! Thank you!"
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 10:07 am
Was that a blatant lie or what? Surely she didn't expect him to believe that. Given all the time they wasted bantering back and forth, there was no way in hell she could've meant that. "You don't haf' to be so sarcastic." He shot her a caustic look tainted with exhaustion. People wore him out so thoroughly; couldn't he find a job where human interaction was a myth?
Pipe dreams. All he held were pipe dreams.
If I were a youma, he thought, returning to his duties, then this entire interaction wouldn't have taken place. For how could she meet me in the Rift? I wouldn't have to deal with supporting myself financially, only viscerally. So why am I still like this? Why am I still damned to being human? Once he reached the section with his guest in tow, Alois brushed his fingertips across a shelf of books. No more social strife, no more double life, no more reasons to behave according to some long-established personality structure. Youma are free of all such things. "Most of our anarchy selection is here - are you looking for instances of american anarchist movements or somesing more worldly?"
Maybe he should step aside and return to his desk - she now stood face-to-face with the section she needed, so was there any point for him to stand around and feign usefulness? No - if anything, he could call Katarin to finish up with her. His sister held far more patience for customers.
"For somesing outside ze states, I suggest Gif' ze Anarchist a Cigarette. For somesing more local, you may want to shift your focus to ze counterculture in ze 1960s for your studies." There's your help - stop being facetious over it.
Alois absentmindedly glanced over the majority of the novels. As he read each title with little interest, his mind drifted to the overwhelming amount of positives concerning youma life. Shouldn't he aim for such an endeavor? The only experiences forsaken would be those he never wanted in the first place. Having spotted a book slightly out of place, he removed the dusty tome from the shelf with great dexterity and care, very becoming of a trained pianist. Was this not some sign of his own life? He didn't much belong with those surrounding him - surely he should depart to greater purposes, to where he finally belonged.
After brushing the dust from its cover, he read over the embossed lettering. "Is zere anysing else?" He asked, tone returning to its typical stoic tone.
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 10:27 am
Break him with kindness...Clearly he's shy...She laughed. "My dear, I'm not being sarcastic at all."
I'm being nice, she wanted to say. She pulled the book from his hands. Their fingertips touched, which made her smile, but her cuddling prospects seemed more distant. Would she ever make contact or would he push her away? Perhaps she tarnished it. Oh, how could this be? She rather liked him--found him talented at piano, commanding...
But he didn't want it, did he? She couldn't force him into liking her. Manipulation only worked both ways, and if he refused to be enticed, well...
"Come ring me up?" she asked.
She had one more plan, and if it failed, she would never see him again. It was a sweet, gentle, childish plan--the kind of thing shy noobs at flirting did when they couldn't voice their desires, but it was better than nothing.
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 12:21 pm
Reflexively he withdrew his fingers from hers as she usurped the book. With it came a step away from her, lengthening the distance between them. It wasn't necessarily a loathed interaction, just... A little too close. Too seeking. "Right," he deadpanned in response, clearly suspicious of her assertion. Already he was having trouble discerning her motives - she hadn't expressed them in the moment that he asked. So what was it she sought? Just the book, just to interact with someone whose private moment she walked in on?
Did she want to do damage, or seek something from him?
That's right, he should view it from its most basic components. Either she sought harm or a boon to claim for herself. Unless she intended to attack him in a very roundabout way, she didn't appear the caustic sort. That left one other option: she wanted something, something that he had. And with that realization came another notion - if he possessed something she wanted, then he was in control of their interaction.
Alois visibly relaxed, though it was nearly imperceptible. "Yes," he started toward the desk almost immediately. It was easier to turn away from her; if he didn't have to look at her, then he wouldn't study her. She already acknowledged for him that he assumed the reins, and that was enough.
Meandering through the mess of beleaguered tables and loaded shelves proved a relatively easy task for him; after growing up in a far more cramped bookstore, this one proved quite welcoming to navigate. Upon reaching the desk, he sat in the entirely wooden (and entirely uncomfortable) chair standing slightly askew. It squeaked in his reception of him. "Will zat be all?" He asked while he thumbed through one of the ledgers lying across the desk. The sku stood out at the bottom of the page, reading off the book as well as the author. RIght - he logged it yesterday. How could he forget?
"Ten ninety-nine," he confirmed.
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 12:34 pm
Ruthie pulled the money from her wallet and handed it to the man. With the money, she pulled a pen. This...This was her shot. As he gave her change, she drilled it into her head that she would never see him again if her plans failed. She would avoid him. She would crawl into the earth and cover herself with roots and herbs and no one would find her. She weaved the pen between her fingers. Would this be alright?
Maybe.
"Thank you for helping me today." She waited for him to bag the book. Then she would make her move. Oh, it seemed so noob, but she didn't care. She committed to putting herself out there, and if it meant taking these tiny chances, so be it.
Better to have the experience, she thought. What's playing the field without taking a few risks?
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 12:46 pm
Alois counted off the slightly furled bills that she handed off. Five, ten, eleven. Everything's there - she didn't try to short him, which further supported her friendly demeanor. Still, he wondered if he was missing something there... Something more sinister. Was she disarming him now, or trying to? Inwardly he vowed to avoid such petty attempts.
He opened the register with his key, circumventing the entire process of typing in the amount tendered and all the other unnecessary nonsense. The drawer came open easily, revealing a neatly organized stack of bills in each segment, along with separated coin in each compartment beneath. However, two compartments stood empty, flanking the quarters and nickels respectively. Alois withdrew one of the rolls from the desk and beat it against the lip of the register, effectively splitting the roll in half. After he dumped the majority of the pennies into the empty stoop, he handed her a single piece in return.
WIth the drawer slammed and the key removed, he now turned his attention to bagging the merchandise. They certainly didn't have any decorated bags of their own, so he opted for one of the generic plastics hidden beneath the desk. Afterward, he wrote up a receipt on the carbon paper, her purchase neatly documented in his meticulous script.
He even included a sort of signature - a slanted line for the tittles.
Finally he handed the bag to her with the receipt tucked into the center of the book. "Should you find it's not to your liking, or ze incorrect book for your class, you haf' one week to return it for a full refund. After zat, you can trade it in toward a different book, or..." He tapered off. Why was he bothering with this dialogue now? Oh, how he hated shopkeeping. With a disappointed sigh, he continued. "Or you can recoup some of ze money spent." If he ever ran his own business, he made a mental note to hire someone for the customer service aspects.
The girl was pretty, to be certain, but any a pretty plant turned poisonous in the right circumstances. He was wary of her still, but not overly so. She hadn't made any more attempts to injure him... yet.
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 1:01 pm
Ah yes. There it was: Her golden ticket. She grabbed the receipt. Was she really doing this? She was doing this. Risks were worth it! Maybe she wouldn't gain his favor, but the act asserted that she could push her boundaries--grow comfortable with reaching out at the risk of rejection. If she could survive this, who knew what else she could tolerate?
She wrote onto the receipt:
xxxxxHey you!
xxxxxCan't wait to resume this flirtatious little dance.
xxxxxGive me a call!
xxxxxxoxo Ruthie
She wrote her number below, took the book, and slid the receipt back to the young man.
"Kthanksbai." She waved, smiled and zipped out of the store.
Bye forever? she thought as she crossed the street. Or bye for now?
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