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Gilles had a technique for cleaning out the bookshop, now. He would start at one end of the shop and work is way counter-clockwise, dusting, mopping, sweeping, cataloging as he teetered through stacks of old, dusty books and pages, his hair bobbing in the air with vigor, his eyes focused on that little piece of dirt that would not come up. This was a very good thing, because lately Chikara had been handing him more and more of the responsibilities of keeping up with the bookshop. After Alan's apartment was robbed, she seemed to be focused on giving the entire building a security update, which not only consisted of locks and chains but also of strange little letters she wrote over doorways and beneath windowsills. This was all over Gilles' head.

"Mr. Hoppo! Where did you put the sponges?" Gilles asked, drying the floor with such gusto that it almost seemed like his arm was going to fly off at any moment. "I need the sponges! Do we have sponges in the bar?" Gilles wouldn't open the connecting door, however, even in the all-important search for sponges. He wasn't allowed in the bar when Chikara wasn't home, and anyway, it was so loud in there. The bookshop was mercifully quiet, and he intended to keep it that way. Gilles stood up and placed his hands on his hips, frowning at the floor in such a way that one would expect it to clean itself.

"I think it's time for a break." He announced, and threw down the rag with a triumphant hah!. He turned around swiftly and pushed open the door to the outside, breathing in the sights and sounds of Durem in the evening. Somewhere in the distance, someone was barbequeing on their apartment balcony, and a hesitant melody played from one of the more somber bars across the way. He propped the door open with a wooden wedge, flipped the sign around from 'Closed' to 'Open' and collapsed behind the counter, hoping that he would have a few minutes before any customers came in.

Gilles sat up as if electrocuted when Lonan walked in. He needed to work already? Gilles could hardly stand the injustice of it all. He stood and scooped Mr. Hoppo onto his shoulder, looking curiously at his customer. What an odd fellow. First of all, this man had wings. People just weren't supposed to have wings. (But then, people weren't supposed to have blue hair and tails, but that wasn't the point.) There was something else about this person...but Gilles couldn't place it. He gave a mental shrug and smiled quite forcibly. "Hello, valued customer!" he said, in the painful tone of voice used by people who are terribly bored and are trying to cover it up by being sing-song. "Can I help you with anything today?"

Gilles stared at the man. Alright, Gilles would admit he wasn't happy. But he was pretending to be happy! And if this man wasn't happy with Gilles pretending to be happy when he wasn't, Gilles wasn't going to be happy or pretend to be happy. However, Lonan's tone of voice piqued the child's curiosity. "I...don't know if we have any books in...ah...Braille?...but I know we have some old books. Chikara - my momma - usually keeps them locked up, only for specially interested customers." Gilles scooted around the desk and kept far away from the man's cane, just in case. "What's Braille? Is it a special language?" Gilles asked, still staring at the older Shattered.

Gilles blinked, as comprehension slowly dawned on his face. And then he blushed a furious shade of red, realizing that he had been rude to a person who was handicapped, and that was probably frowned upon in society. Oh dear. "Oh." He gazed at the book of Braille that Lonan produced out of his pocket, a frown ticking in one corner of his brow. Gilles had never seen anything like that before, and he had certainly seen a lot of books during his time spent in the shop. So they didn't have any Braille books - but they certainly had old books, and the man said old books, right?

The older books were kept in a specially locked counter underneath the check-out desk. Gilles had the key to the lock, and wasn't hesitant to open it for this man, though he might have been for another. "I don't think we have any Braille. I'm sorry. There might be some in the Miscellanious section, but I don't know, we don't usually get many...interested people." Gilles stuttered on the last word, realizing that 'blind people' would not be a good description of the customers."Would you like to see our older books? I can take them out and put them on the counter for you." Gilles' hand was already halfway to his pocket when he realized he hadn't introduced himself. "I'm Gilles, by the way. What's your name?"

Gilles looked up from behind the desk and paled, his throat constricting and fear rising up in black waves from his stomach. The deck was supposed to be upstairs! What was it doing down here? He forced himself to look down, take deep breaths, remain calm. By his foot a card lay, face down, it's glossy surface tempting and forbidden - just next to his shoe. Gilles bent down to pick it up without thinking. The Hermit. Gilles thought rapidly, the words coming without restraint, hungrily eating up the child's mind, The Hermit indicates- No, no, no. Put it down and move away. Gilles shook himself, and gave his wrist a hard pinch. Then the child placed the card on the desk, and removed the stack of old, crinkling books from the depths of the desk and onto its surface. "I'll get the rest of the cards. Don't worry. Do you need help to get to the desk?" Gilles asked, his voice tight.

Gilles watched Lonan examine the cards with nothing less than panic rising in his throat. He didn't want someone so...so...helpless around those things. Lonan couldn't see at all, so how could he cope with seeing the not-truly-there-but-soon-to-be-now? Gilles bit the inside of his cheek, watching the older man study the cards. "They shouldn't show people what they show." Gilles stuttered over the words. It was hard to describe. "It's not right. People shouldn't be able to know. Do you want to see the books or not?"

Gilles blanched when Lonan asked him the next question. His talent? Gilles couldn't respond. Was it a talent? Could it be a talent? Did he want something like...that...to be his talent. "I don't know what you mean." He said, haltingly, his fingers and toes growing cold now, his heart thundering in his chest. "It just startled me when they fell, that's all. They're not special." It was a lie, and Lonan would tell. That was why he was The Hermit. The Hermit that lights the right-hand path, and sees for the people who cannot see themselves. But Gilles was pushing that knowledge down, because he didn't want to think about the cards.

Gilles winced. Yes, The Hermit indeed, if he could tell that easily that Gilles was lying. Which path did he light? The right-hand path could be many, many different paths, depending on where you were standing and whose hand you were counting. And then what about the people who wanted to take the left-hand path? There was no card for them. Gilles shook his head. "They show...what's going to happen. But not really. Only hints. You don't really understand until it hapepns." And then Lonan said something that made Gilles angry. The deck wasn't a 'valuable asset!' It was a burden that Gilles wished he had thrown away by now. It took some time for Gilles to get himself under control, and when he did, he said, "Imagine you knew that someone was going to die, and you couldn't stop it. Or that something bad was going to happen. Or that something good was going to happen, but you didn't know where or when or who to and why. It's not a good thing to know. People aren't supposed to know more than right-now and before." His voice trailed off, his eyes trying desperately not to look at the older man. "I'm not afraid of not knowing. I'm not afraid of knowing. I just...don't want to see more than I have to see." He said this last bit very quietly, looking at his feet.

Gilles shook his head. The older Shattered didn't seem to understand. "Some things can't be changed after a certain point, but they haven't happened yet. Some things can't be changed yet. Some things can be changed but only if certain conditions are met. It's not that simple." Gilles continued to chew the inside of his mouth, watching the teen's welts and scars blister and break, but in the vicinity of the deck, Gilles was back in that sheltered corner of his mind, where the world didn't seem to touch him all the way through. "I don't think you understand. If it felt a person die, at an instant, it would be over afterwards. There would be nothing I could do to change that. But...but knowing...and then after, when you think that maybe you could have done something, but at the same time you know you couldn't...because what if it could have happened to someone else?...and then...there wasn't really anything you could do in the first place, but it felt that way." Gilles stumbled on the words quite a bit. He had never actually predicted anyone dying, so he was trying to piece together what likely emotions would stir from a prediction like that.

"Talents...make themselves. I suppose you can choose them to be a burden...or a strength...or you can not choose them, and hope they go away." Gilles stopped and fixed Lonan with what he hoped felt like a withering look to the older man. "This book is a poem about a man killing a dragon. It's called Beowulf. Are you interested in it?" Gilles hoped that he would be able to distract the man long enough to take his deck and get it out of there.