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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 11, 2011 1:09:04 GMT -8
Time: Day 4, Late Morning Weather: So cloudy... Warnings: BOOKS! Characters: Charlotte Jacobs, [OPEN]
Charlotte wandered through the furthest back row of books in the Greenvale Public Library, fingertips trailing along the spines. She took a deep, contented breath, breathing in the scent of old books. It was comforting, somehow. Smelled a little like home. She grinned at the silliness... though it was sort of true. Books were very much home for her. Had been ever since her dad had introduced her to the wonder of them.
An idea occurred to her, and she began searching in earnest. Lewis Carroll was easy enough to find, and she quickly had the library’s copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland in hand. Might as well brush up. Just in case. And she did enjoy the books. Well, she HAD, at least. Perhaps she would again... Flipping gently through the pages, she started wandering once more.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 11, 2011 22:26:59 GMT -8
It wasn't long after she had arrived at the library - perhaps the space of a few minutes - before another person brushed by, mumbling an awkward apology as he set to perusing the shelves. There was no mistaking who it was, of course...no mistaking that white suit, that straight-backed stance. Michael didn't seem to notice Charlotte there just yet, busily poking around the books with very tired, bleary eyes. He looked rather ill today, the dark rings beneath his eyes especially pronounced - if he had slept, he hadn't slept very much - and a frown on his features suggested some serious discomfort.
He took a book down from the shelf, flipping through the pages and tutting in irritation as the corners of the paper caught on the bandages wrapped around his palms.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 12, 2011 1:03:04 GMT -8
Charlotte blinked in surprise as someone brushed by with a mumbled apology. She was even more surprised to realise that it was Michael. He was involved in busily poking around the books and had not noticed that she was there, beyond the fact that he’d brushed past someone. After their last encounter, she found herself making sure that she was more than a sword-length away.
She continued flipping through the book in her hands, keeping a discreet eye on the other man.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 12, 2011 1:47:41 GMT -8
He still didn't notice her there, it seemed...he looked distracted, somehow, his eyes only half-focused upon the books in front of him. He set the one he was reading back upon the shelf, picking up another and leafing through that one instead. There was something decidedly odd about him...something amiss about the way in which he was moving. It was plain enough to see that he was unwell...his jaw was set tightly shut enough that the muscles twitched beneath his skin. Irritated? Upset? Taking the book with him, he sat down at a nearby table, leaning upon it with both elbows and leaving the book open on the table. He was still straight-backed (perhaps that was an effect of the sword strapped beneath his jacket), but he was bent at the waist, almost seeming to droop against the study wooden surface. His stormy eyes were hollow as they flicked over the page, tracing the letters upon it. '...Well, sir, the two ran into one another naturally enough at the corner; and then came the horrible part of the thing; for the man trampled calmly over the child's body and left her screaming on the ground. It sounds nothing to hear, but it was hellish to see. It wasn't like a man; it was like some damned Juggernaut. I gave a few halloa, took to my heels, collared my gentleman, and brought him back to where there was already quite a group about the screaming child. He was perfectly cool and made no resistance, but gave me one look, so ugly that it brought out the sweat on me like running....' He gave a bit of a wobble, drooping a bit further towards the table before catching himself. Too tired. In an effort to stay awake, he leafed through the book some more, skipping bits at random. He had read this before, of course. He knew what happened. It was more a means of distraction than a means of entertainment.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 12, 2011 16:40:38 GMT -8
Charlotte couldn’t help but worry about Michael. He... did not look well. At all. Quite possibly the OPPOSITE of well. Did Mister Stewart know how... under the weather his aide was? Or had he somehow managed NOT to notice. Somehow she couldn’t believe that. Michael was not hiding it. Maybe it was the fact that it looked like it would rain again?
Wrapping her arms around the book she was holding, she made a decision. Even knowing that it was probably not the best idea, seeing how their last encounter went, she slowly and carefully made her way towards the other man.
“Michael? Are you... all right?” It was pretty much the stupidest question she could possibly ask, since evidence to the contrary was written all over him... but small talk wasn’t her thing. Let alone small talk with someone who had brandished a sword at her the day before.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 12, 2011 23:51:50 GMT -8
Eyes darting up in surprise, the young man seemed started by the sudden mentioning of his name - but as he realized who was addressing him, he steadily calmed again, widened eyes going half-lidded and hollow once more. He crossed his arms on the tabletop, considering his words carefully...of course he wasn't all right. He knew he looked like death warmed over, and there was really no point to trying to deny the fact.
But he did anyway, reciting his usual lines in a voice too hoarse, too quiet, and...quite markedly, devoid of rhyme.
"I am fine."
Strangely, he didn't look angry with Charlotte for what had happened - in fact, he hardly looked like he remembered the events of the day before at all. Reaching up with one hand, he rubbed at one of his eyes, stifling a yawn. Just when it seemed as if he wouldn't say anything else, he finally spoke again, a great amount of hesitation behind his words.
"...I hope today finds you well...the weather looks as if it might soon all go to Hell." A touch more...discordant than something he might normally say of his own accord, perhaps, but at least it rhymed. His eyes flicked to the book in her arms, trying to read the title out of idle curiousity. He shifted in his seat, seemingly to try and sit straight again - but instead only winced and wound up back in the lean. Yes, it was DEFINITELY going to rain soon.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 13, 2011 15:19:24 GMT -8
Charlotte hadn’t expected the lack of rhyme, but it didn’t entirely surprise her, with as bad as he looked. At least he didn’t look like he would draw his wakizashi this morning. At least for the time being, anyway. Who knew how their conversation could go in the following minutes. An epic sword fight in the library might make for a fun time.
She was suddenly struck by the humour of the situation; he was as bad with small talk as she was. Somehow, she didn’t think their encounters would ever proceed past the ‘awkward’. And that was all right with her.
“Yes. It... does look like it’s going to rain.” The ‘and this town does go to hell a little in the rain’ was left unsaid. She had luckily not had any more run-ins with the Shadows... and she wished she could say the same about the Smoking Man.
Her eyes strayed to the book Michael had been flipping through. I wonder what he's reading...
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 13, 2011 18:31:12 GMT -8
Michael gave a little nod of certainty at her comment, sliding his eyes away from trying to read the book cover in her arms. An awkward silence settled over them...he knew just as well as she that neither of them were any good at small talk. Honestly, he was much too tired to muck about with pleasantries at the moment, anyhow...so, running a hand back through his hair, he spoke up once more. "...I am...sorry for the misunderstanding...yesterday," he mumbled hoarsely, his poise tenuous at best for the moment. "My...patience has been...slipping, I am sorry to say." His expression didn't back up his apology...it remained very blank, his eyes tired, hollow. The book was pinned beneath his arm now - part of the pages obscured, but a passage still readable and in the open. 'The steps drew swiftly nearer, and swelled out suddenly louder as they turned the end of the street. The lawyer, looking forth from the entry, could soon see what manner of man he had to deal with. He was small and very plainly dressed and the look of him, even at that distance, went somehow strongly against the watcher's inclination. But he made straight for the door, crossing the roadway to save time; and as he came, he drew a key from his pocket like one approaching home.
Mr. Utterson stepped out and touched him on the shoulder as he passed. "Mr. Hyde, I think?"
Mr. Hyde shrank back with a hissing intake of the breath. But his fear was only momentary; and though he did not look the lawyer in the face, he answered coolly enough: "That is my name. What do you want?"
"I see you are going in," returned the lawyer. "I am an old friend of Dr. Jekyll's--Mr. Utterson of Gaunt Street--you must have heard of my name; and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me."
"You will not find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home," replied Mr. Hyde, blowing in the key. And then suddenly, but still without looking up, "How did you know me?" he asked. '
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 13, 2011 19:07:39 GMT -8
He’s reading Jekyll and Hyde.
Charlotte smiled lopsidedly, and shrugged.
“It’s all right. Things happened.” Granted, she would have rather NOT had a sharp blade pointed in her direction, but it hadn’t punctured her body, so it worked out in the end. Of course, she suspected that they had exhausted their supply of small talk, so now it was just going to be just awkward. Well, awkwardER. They already had awkward down pat.
“Jekyll and Hyde?” she asked, indicating the book. She already knew that’s what it was, but she was trying to be polite and make the least amount of awkward conversation she could. And she was a bibliophile, so she could do small talk about books. “Fascinating book. I really ought to get around to re-reading it one of these days.” She hadn’t read it in a while, but she remembered the first time she’d read it. She’d done a book report on it in the 3rd grade. Her teacher hadn’t known quite what to think.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 13, 2011 20:41:37 GMT -8
Some of the tension in the young man's shoulders loosened when she dismissed his apology...he was glad, at least, that she would not hold his behavior against hm. He hadn't been feeling...well as of late. Mister Stewart was worried. He knew that. But steadily, he was feeling more and more worn down...to the point of frightening himself. He hid this fear behind that poker face he wore, the only hint at his true thoughts the fact that his eyes were just a little too deadened, the lids a little too heavy. Mister Stewart was right. He was breaking, slowly.
When the topic changed to his choice of reading, it was a topic he could discuss - he gave a nod, confirming that she was correct. "It's one of my favorite stories, in truth...I've liked it ever since my youth."
He paused for a moment, seeming to consider his words, head tilting a little to one side and thoughtfulness entering his voice.
"...I always...thought it was rather sad. For Doctor Jekyll...I always felt bad. He only meant to help, and what remained...was only a source for his own torment and pain."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 13, 2011 21:17:11 GMT -8
Charlotte smiled, feeling a little more relaxed now that she’d successfully turned the conversation to something comfortable and not awkward. Her expression shifted, going from that of polite friendliness to something a little more open, at ease. Animated.
“I enjoyed it as a child as well. Wasn’t one of my favourites, those places were held by Dune and H.P Lovecraft. But I did use it as the subject of a rather lengthy book report...” She shrugged again, looking a little amused. “But that’s neither here nor there, really.”
Her brow furrowed thoughtfully as she took in his last few sentences.
“It was also a fascinating study of the duality of man. Good and evil... and their merits, you might say. But yes... it was very sad indeed. Being transformed into someone else forever, someone that’s you, only... not. I can’t imagine what that must be like. Would you know? Would the real you be aware, somewhere deep in their subconscious?”
She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, as her oddly introspective little ramble came to its conclusion. That had been... unexpected.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 13, 2011 23:17:50 GMT -8
Books. He could talk about books, being rather an avid reader himself. Books had kept him company for a very long time...in the absence of real friends, in the absence of family that he had suffered for much of his life, he had always had books.
Still...the questions she asked, that little bit of introspection, that question...he couldn't help but think about it. If that was him...if something darker overpowered him, dragged him under...would he know? Would there be anything he could do?
...Would he even have the strength to fight back?
Something inside of him suddenly gave a lurch - he jerked forward, his hand grabbing the edge of the table to steady himself, a strange taste all at once on his tongue. He started to cough, covering his mouth with one hand and wrenching his eyes shut. When he did, something faint danced in the darkness behind his eyelids...something gray and wispy, curling upward in thin ribbons. Then the gray gave way to something bright, hot -
He snapped his eyes open again, realizing somewhat dimly that his grip on the edge of the table was white-knuckled.
Just that damn nightmare again. Just...almost nodded off.
Mister Stewart was, clearly, more right than he knew about something being wrong.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 13, 2011 23:33:00 GMT -8
Charlotte moved towards Michael when he jerked forward, his grip on the table going white knuckled. Her hand ghosted above his shoulder as though she wanted to touch him, to... she wasn’t sure. Reassure him, maybe? But she didn’t, not instantly. But then her concern overrode whatever wariness she felt and she placed her hand gingerly on his shoulder.
And then... whatever that was seemed to pass, leaving everything much as it was before. Only Charlotte was far more concerned and far more... weirded out than she had been prior.
“... Michael?”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 14, 2011 0:33:54 GMT -8
When Charlotte placed her hand on his shoulder, he actually jumped a little in surprise - a grimace of pain crossing his features very briefly. Quite accidentally, he swept the book off the table with his arm, knocking it down to land tented cover-side-up on the ground. His brows knitted together - that had hurt. His scars tended to sting a little before the rain and a great deal during, but...but where she had placed her hand, he could feel the skin...burning.
Despite his slight panic, he shook his head, pulling away and wobbling to his feet. "...I...It's all right, I'm...I'm only tired," he intoned, his voice very hoarse indeed. "The last couple of days...much...has transpired. I haven't...well, I haven't really...slept...there's been much to do...schedules have been kept...."
It wasn't quite an 'I'm fine,' but still he was clearly tinting the truth...even as he had stood, he did so much too quickly, his hand snapping to his head as his head throbbed.
I swear, I am never drinking again....
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 14, 2011 1:20:35 GMT -8
Charlotte pulled her hand away from Michael’s shoulder as if burned. Mister Stewart was very much right... SOMEthing was wrong. Her first thought was that he needed to know what had just happened. Her second thought was that he already knew, though that stemmed from the hurt and surprise at her late night realisation that he’d known exactly what she’d gone through in his house and said nothing.
“... Trouble sleeping?” she asked softly. Though she suspected its cause was completely different, she did have sizeable experience with trouble sleeping. There had been a month following the discovery of her mother’s body that she had somehow survived on one or two hours sleep (if she was lucky) and sheer determination. Michael, however... looked like the hounds of hell tormented him when he slept. Which would make anyone avoid sleep as much as possible.
She didn’t touch him again, though he desperately looked like he needed support, instead wrapping her arm back around her book. There’s something I’m missing, she realised.
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