*We have a roof on our Library now!*
The construction in the Library finally seems to be finished, and the results are amazing. A simple, graceful geometry of metal and wood struts arch across the ceiling, forming a semi-geodesic dome structure which supports translucent, pearly white panels which serve as the roof. They are apparently not glass, but something at once lighter and tougher than glass, with something of a seashell sheen to them. The lighting in the library is brighter than electricity during a sunny day but soft; the opacity of the panels seems to protect the books from the harm of direct sun.
The bookshelves have returned to their proper places along the walls, also forming proper stacks, but they are still mostly empty. Piles of books, stacks of books, ramparts of books are everywhere upon the glitteringly new-varnished wooden floor. Two ancient book-trolleys-- one freshly painted an incongruous canary-yellow, and the other sporting a cheerful coat of candy-apple red-- are also loaded with books.
To the left as you enter from the front door stands the Librarian's desk, polished to a reluctant gleam, with a few patched comfortable chairs in front of it. To your right is the card catalog, the little drawers neatly labeled.
On the tripod, just in front of the door, is a large piece of paper reading:
"Please Be Patient While The Librarians Reorganize Our Books. Isn't Our New Roof Wonderful!?!?!?!!?!?!?"
Did someone call for 'tall, dark, and handsome'? Well, dark's fairly well covered, at least. Jet-black hair's pulled into a long, loose tail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands about the face occasionally drifting into his almost equally dark eyes, the irises of which are a brown deep enough that one needs to look closely to find the pupil. Nut-brown skin that sets off the white of his teeth and eyes -- it could just barely be mistaken for a very deep tan, if one really tried. Tall is a miss; he's still several inches off six feet, and he probably won't ever get there. Handsome... well, not a classic beauty, to be sure, but well-proportioned, with a stunning, frequent grin and deeply expressive features. Slim, but in perfectly good shape.
He's clad in... well, black leather pants. Somewhat faded, well broken in, but nicely cut and really =quite= nicely fitted. A simple cream shirt hangs untucked above them, long sleeved and fastened with a row of small, black stone buttons. Over that, he wears a decidedly well-worn old black trenchcoat, almost too big for him -- the cuffs hang down half-over his hands, when he lets them, and the hem hangs perilously close to his heels. Scuffed black leather boots with worn soles adorn his feet; there's a seemingly random collection of bracelets, all on one wrist, and several piercings along the upper section of each ear -- little silver hoops.
Danny stands just under six feet tall and moves with an odd grace that's difficult to categorize. It's not quite the artful manner of a dancer nor the economic movements of a trained warrior, still there's certainly something different in how he carries himself. Fit musculature on a lean frame gives him the look of a runner, and his clean and smooth features suggest a northern European heritage. He has well-defined cheekbones that lend a youthful cast which may bely his true age, while a faint five-o'clock shadow makes his otherwise friendly smile a little disreputable. His eyes are expressive and match colors with his full, wavey, chin-length hair: a deep dark brown that's only just this side of black. His skin in naturally pale, but days working outside have given it the faintest suggestion of a tan.
His clothing is casual but work-oriented, with a light-weight, long-sleeved tunic in off white linen belted at his waist with a black, woven leather belt. A loose pair of dark brown linen pants are tucked into calf-high, black leather boots that look a bit newer than the rest of his apparel, their sides finely tooled with Celtic knots. A stamped silver coin bearing the triune horse symbol of Epona hangs around his neck on a silver snake chain, and there's a sky blue ribbon tied just behind his ear, trailing in and out of his dark hair in a former bow that has apparently come untied.
A gentleman and a scholar, this one. Neither tall nor short, he's got a solid, broad build, and is currently about as lean as he's ever likely to get in this life. He's probably from a variety of European stock; his face is open and gentle, his nose just large enough to be interesting. He wears a short, neat beard, trimmed close, and gold-wire-rimmed spectacles with expensively slim lenses. Behind the specs, his eyes are a light, tawny brown, almost golden. His hands are a scholar's: large and dexterous, inkstained, callused where his pen rests on his right ring finger. Callused in new places, lately, from rougher work than turning pages. His hair is dark, somewhere between auburn and brown, and nicely thick and shiny. It's usually worn in a glossy waist-length braid. The color is broken by a thick streak of startling, pure-white hair that starts above his left temple and runs all the way down the length of his hair. So much white makes him look older, perhaps in his late thirties.
He's wearing jeans that are worn thin and tattered at the knees, washed nearly white everywhere except the seams, which retain traces of the original blue. His shirt is a cotton, dark green button-down affair with the cuffs rolled to the elbow and buttoned, and his shoes are light workboots. Always within reach, if not actually in hand, is a wooden staff as tall as he is.
He's a big guy -- that's the first impression this man gives. Standing at an even six feet, his build is certainly sturdy, with broad shoulders and beefy arms. There isn't a scrap of fat on him either, and the calloused hands look like they've seen their share of hard work. The second impression he gives is one of youth. His clean-shaven face has a boyish cast, slightly round but with a strong jaw and squarish chin. It's a strange mix of lingering adolescence and budding maturity. His eyes are pale blue, clear and bright, expressive in a way that hints at soulfulness, though he often looks somewhat preoccupied. A tousled crop of blond hair frames his face, windblown and sun-bleached in an array of shades that could only come from nature: the color of honey and wheat sheaves streaked with gold.
His clothing isn't fancy, but he keeps it in good repair, with careful patches covering the places where it's gone threadbare. The black breeches of a dense cotton weave are tight enough to show off the musculature of his legs though loose enough to remain modest. The linen shirt he wears is clean but dingy with age, left unlaced at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A leather thong around his neck seems weighted down by some kind of pendant, a glimpse of which can be seen through the loose lacing of his shirt. It seems to be made of polished wood, but its shape is indistinct.
This is Miki, unmistakably Miki of the waterfall of foam-white hair, yet inescapably different from the Miki you know. The same eyes, the deep, thoughtful blue of an evening sky; the same delicate, symmetrical, almost inhuman beauty; but something is subtly different. Perhaps it is in the planes of the face or the fine shape of the jaw, but the clearly boyish lines of Miki's face are now... less so. In fact, they are positively female.
This theme is carried out in full. His-- now her-- white dress shirt (a few sizes too large) and close-fitting black wool vest reveal a decidedly feminine figure, and the jeans she's wearing cover hips just slightly too pronounced to be a proper boy's.
She wears a simple silver band ring with a dark blue stone, and a very discontented expression.
This young man is dark-eyed and merry, plump like a Renaissance painter's dream of Bacchus. His untidy curls trail halfway down his back. He wears a plain linen shirt, plain khaki trousers, plain brown work shoes, a necklace of matte black and brown beads that manages to look simultaneously high-tech and plain, and a magnificent coat of scarlet wool, skirted like an eighteenth-century gentleman's. He watches the world with the hint of a smile, as though he had just seen a marvelous joke played and was waiting for the rest of the world to get it before he laughed.
"No, it's probably in the air," Robin says to Martin. "Or in the sky. Hello." He gifts Martin with a smile of radiant friendliness. "I'm Robin, formerly a woman." Miki's question throws him for a second. "Well, she..." He considers the glowing ceiling, tapping his lips with his fingertip. "You said something about how the family line was--" He blanches and his eyes widen. "--NO."
"/What?/" Justin demands, alarmed by the reactions.
Martin starts to say something again, but Robin's blanching causes him to snap his mouth shut and sidle away from Miki-as-woman, Justin, and Robin. He gestures to the crate he's left near the door as he asks weakly, "Should I come back another time?"
"The family blood runs through the female line stronger," says Miki, near babbling, still with her arms wrapped around herself. "Even a half-blood... especially if Anderja then had a child with someone... But I do not want to! I do NOT WANT TO!" Her voice raises in a near-hysterical shriek.
"You're not going to have to," Robin says firmly. He goes to Miki and takes Miki's face in his hands. "Look at me, Miki, it's all right--nothing bad is going to happen to you. There are spells to slide around this problem. I can cast them for you. You are going to be all right."
"You may as well get used to this sort of thing," Justin mutters lowly to Martin, while worriedly eyeing Miki. "They happen all the time." As Robin is already there, he doesn't go to Miki, but raises his voice to add, "Nobody's going to make you get pregnant, Miki, this isn't your normal state of being. It would be foolishness to try to make it happen under such circumstances." Maybe logic will help. Probably not, but you never know.
Danny comes back out from the stacks, drawn by the raised voices. He gives Martin a weak smile and says, "I think maybe it *is* the water." Miki's increasing distress turns his smile into a frown of concern. "What happens to the women in your family line?" he asks.
Miki studies Robin's face frantically, as though searching for help. "Were you supposed to be a son?" she asks, almost wistfully. "I was to be a daughter. Then they said I would have a little sister, but my parents died, you know. Only girls inherit a vegzet, the sztar-varazslatos."
"The magic's stronger in the female line in my family, too," Robin says. Since Miki's calming down, he rests his hands on the young woman's shoulders. "You will be a son again soon." His expression softens. "Are you the one who feels obliged to carry on the family line, or are you afraid of your brother?"
Justin, his eyes still on Miki, goes over to Danny. "Fated to make more varazslatos," he tells the Perunka in a low and concerned voice. "Seems they carry the blood stronger, and Miki and Anderja are the last of their line."
Martin nods dumbly to Danny, echoing the weak smile. He retreats to his crate and crouches beside it, trying to look casual as he pries off the top to sort through it, though what he really manages to do is look terribly disturbed while trying not to.
"So you mean, they have to have children?" Danny looks more confused, not less. "Is--I mean, does Miki not *want* to have children?"
Miki shakes her head, swinging it from side to side with such force that her hair comes loose and brushes across Robin's face. "No, no, it is... it is different as I was born a boy, and I am glad, glad that is what I am, this is wrong, I..." With an effort, she stops herself talking and looks downward, her jaw clenching. "I do not like this," she says with careful precision.
The door opens, and a rather cheerful coyote kin steps through, humming to himself -- and then stops short, looking around at the relatively huge assemblage in surprise as the door swings shut again behind him. "Did I miss a memo?" he starts, taking them in, eyes stopping when they reach Miki. They widen, and he stares for a moment or two. "Oh no," he manages, "I guess I did," before the grin he's been fighting breaks free and he just cracks up. "What the dark =happened=?"
Robin brushes Miki's hair back with gentle fingers. "It's like wearing someone else's clothes, isn't it?" he says. "The littlest things feel wrong--the mouth's the wrong shape, the legs don't swing right. I nearly wore a bald spot in my scalp the first time because even scratching my head made the wrong sound inside my skull. But it gets easier." He squeezes Miki's shoulders. "The clothes fit themselves to their new owner. And before you notice, they'll be off."
Justin spreads his hands at Danny. "I don't think so." He wants to go comfort Miki quite badly, that's nearly as plain as beast-speech, but Robin seems to have things under control, and he's apparently reluctant to add more complications.
Martin glances up at the sound of Ren's laughter, and he smiles, a fixed little smile that looks like if it so much as twitches his face will shatter. Not that he's tense or anything. "It's not the water," he offers helpfully. He glances toward Miki and Robin, but otherwise doesn't get all helpful. Robin seems to be handling things.
Danny nods in agreement with Justin moves to stand near him, watching Robin and Miki warily.
Miki turns her head in the direction of the door, her eyes narrowing. She jerks back, nearly out of Robin's grasp, her skin flushing in red patches of embarrassment. "It is fine for *you!* she nearly spits. "You did it on purpose! People do not look at you and think--!" Then her gaze fastens on something over Robin's shoulder and she mutters something in Hungarian that sounds frantic, perhaps a little lost. "Mi tortent?" More desperately, "Mit akar velem? Mar nem! Anderja--!"
"People won't look at you and think--" Miki's torrent of Hungarian cuts Robin off. He grips Miki's shoulders. "What? Anderja? Miki, what's going on?"
You paged Miklos with 'What'd he say?'.
Miklos pages: She said: what's happening? What does he want with me? Not now!
Serendipity supports himself on Martin's crate, trying to stop laughing. Really, it's a serious situation. Really. Obviously. He gets down to giggles. "You sure?" he asks Martin, "Think we established that got the blame for everyone 'round here bein' so hot..." He's managed to get it under control, but a glance over at Miki puts that in danger for a moment. "Oh, man. Miki, you're still gorgeous, but I'm sorry, th' irony's hilarious..." He trails off when she speaks, and not laughing seems to get a little easier. "...what's who want?"
Justin winces at Ren's laughter, more for Miki's sake than anything else. He gets up the nerve, finally, to step towards Miki and Robin.
Martin carefully nudges Ren off the crate as he moves the lid back into place. Then he draws away and wrings his hands worriedly. The gutless wonder doesn't actually think of anything to say, and instead sits atop the crate, trying to take an untoward interest in the library's floor so as not to stare.
Danny gives Ren an exasperated look for Miki's sake, but stays put.
Miki stares back at Robin for a moment as though he is speaking a foreign language she can't quite grasp. Then she brings her arms up, striking Robin's hands away as she leaps backwards, quivering with tension. "Let go, he cannot carry you, but the magic!" She stands there for a moment, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her breathing racing. "I do not want to go," she says in a low, faintly surprised voice, her gaze resting on Justin. Then, with a rush of wind and incense, she vanishes.
Robin says something sharp in Chinese, with vowels that can cut glass at ten paces. "Justin! Do you know how to track him?"
Serendipity tries to look apologetic -- it's not insincere, just difficult. "Rowan could find him, maybe," he replies to Robin, despite not being the one addressed, "only that was prolly Anderja callin' him home, an' if so, none of us'll be able to find the place, Miki says." He can't help still being amused by the situation, if genuinely concerned about the kid.
Justin shakes his head, his mouth tight. "I never could. Ren is right." He heaves a sigh, runs a hand over his hair, and retreats into the stacks of books, presumably to actually do whatever it is he came here for.
Martin looks startled as Miki is there and then suddenly she's not, but the glazed expression he wears implies he's sort of plateaued out on his shockability for the moment. Since Ren is closest to him, Ren is who he addresses as he asks in a low tone, "He'll be alright won't he? She?"
Robin scorches the air with another word. "You're both right, but I'm /tired/ of standing around while people are in trouble." He grabs his coat. "Who knows?" he says to Martin, and then the library door bangs shut behind him.
Danny flinches at the rather abrupt exits, and stands there staring blankly. "This place is cursed," he says eventually, giving the domed ceiling a suspicious look.
"Or possibly blessed," Ren suggests rather wryly, and gives Martin most of a smile. "Yeah, she'll prolly be just fine. Assumin' that was Anderja, from what Miki says he wouldn't let anythin' touch 'er. Wouldn't worry too much, not yet anyway." He studies Martin closely a moment, observing, "...y'look tense," and stepping around to poke thoughtfully at the man's back, checking the state of the muscles. "So did =you guys= get an explanation what happened?"
Martin's muscles are bunched and tense, despite his lame outward attempts at looking carefree. "That's what I hear," he says to Danny, of the place's curse. Wincing a little at the poke, he sighs and says, "Something about the moon. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but hear."
"The Moon," Danny confirms. "Luna, er, asked Miki to pay her a visit, but Miki had to be a girl, apparently." The tone of his voice suggests he has all sorts of theories as to why.
Serendipity clicks his tongue once disapprovingly at the stress there, and starts rubbing Martin's shoulders without further comment on the matter. "Luna asked Miki t' visit her? Herself?" he asks, sounding remarkably impressed. "...girl thing makes sense, I s'pose. I mean, Luna's always had ties t' women, 'least from the stories I know. They've got their cycles with her 'n' all. So did Miki visit an' get left a chick, or is this, like, preparation?"
Martin doesn't comment on the massaging. He sits there, looking a little uncertain of what to do, so he does nothing, clasping his hands and leaning his elbows on his knees as he fastidiously studies the floor. "I really don't know," he says quietly. "Does it matter? She's clearly upset. It's not right."
Danny shakes his head. "Miki was a guy when we got here, then he just, changed. It was really bizarre." He nods at Martin. "I think that's the important bit. But I don't think Luna'd do anything to hurt him. At least, not intentionally."
Serendipity arches a brow, hands staying busy finding the knots and working them out. "In fronta y'all? Huh. That's interesting. And I don't think Luna'd hurt him either, 'specially not if she wants him t' visit for some reason. Anyway. Not t' be unsympathetic, but, y'know, Miki's got plennya good qualities, but he gets upset alla =time=. An' he's got some big thing against th' idea of bein' female even for a little, found that out way before this. So maybe he's got better reason'n usual, but if it were Coyote an' not Luna, I'd say maybe there was a =reason= for this, force him t' face things he's been avoiding." He shrugs a little. "Maybe Luna's got her reasons too."
Martin glances up at Ren quizzically, but doesn't otherwise respond to the massaging save for the aching muscles to grudgingly relax. He's got the look of a man who's willing to pretend anything is normal so long as everyone just stays nice and calm. "She's got people looking after her. Him. You know what I mean. It's just, well, not what I expected to see."
"It sounded like the women in his family were expected to lead...less than desirable existances." Danny sighs and glances back at the stacks Justin disappeared between. "I'm sure--I hope he'll be okay. She'll." With a wan smile and a wave to both men, he follows after his kumimate, intent on the books they came for.
Serendipity gives a hand a break long enough to wave to Danny before the Perunka heads away, returning his smile as well, and then goes back to his self-appointed work. He isn't in any hurry about it, and does seem to have a pretty good idea of what he's doing. "Yeah; anything goes wrong with Miki, mosta the town'll be on it in nothin' flat," he replies with mild amusement, moving up from shoulders to neck for a little. "An' I doubt anyone but Luna 'spected t' see that. Wish I'd been here."
Martin rolls his head wearily, causing the joints in his neck and shoulders to pop and snap loudly. He seems to be loosening up a little, even if it doesn't make him look any more at ease. "I wish I hadn't," he says ruefully.
Serendipity grins, teasing the tension out of the muscles around those joints, then gradually heading down lower along the spine. "Poor thing. Was there a puff of smoke or somethin'? Look at it this way, you got t' see Miki as a pretty boy =and= a pretty girl. That sounds like a bright side t' me...."
Martin snorts, and as his muscles give way and release their tension, he slouches a little more, losing some of the nervous rigidity of his posture. Hell, he almost looks like a guy just relaxing, almost. "And I got to see Miki beside himself with fear and helplessness. Not exactly the kind of thing to make me jump for joy."
"Yeah, well. You gotta think positive," Ren replies a touch wryly. "It'll get worked out. Which, speakin' of, you've got some damn impressive knots back here. You oughta relax more. 'fact, go lie down by those cushions, I c'n get to 'em better that way," he directs. "This all from the stuff t'night, or...?"
Martin glances over at the cushions, torn between the promise of comfort and the grim necessity of getting up to get there. "I haul a lot of stuff," he explains absently. "Heavy loads. Sleep on the ground the most of the time. It happens." Reluctantly, he drags himself to his feet to investigate the cushion situation more closely.
Serendipity follows, not =quite= shooing Martin along. "Mm. You oughta try t' take better care of yourself, then. Spend a few more nights in inns, or -- you got a wagon?"
Martin shrugs as he lowers himself to the cushions somewhat awkwardly. "I have a room in Millenockett," he says. "There's a boarding house there. I don't usually give it much thought."
Serendipity kneels down and positions Martin not-quite-clinically on the cushions, on his stomach. Once the trader is arranged to Ren's satisfaction, he straddles him with one knee to either side of his derriere, and doesn't quite sit on it as he leans forward to restart the massage. "Well, I was gonna say, my people, we live in wagons. Caravans. You just give 'em a ceiling, put a nice comfy bed in 'em, there ya go. An' maybe you oughta give that room in Millenockett more thought, or somewhere at the farm. Or maybe just borrowin' part of someone else's bed more often," he says, devolving into light teasing, "...'m sure it wouldn't be too hard t' find people who'd be willin' to share."
Martin folds his arms and makes a cradle of them for his head, closing his eyes and sighing softly as comfort brings a certain amount of weariness. His voice is somewhat muffled by his sleeve as he replies, "Oh, people round here have been nice about lending me a spare bed. It's just that I like sleeping under the stars."
"Fair 'nough," Ren replies, leaning in and putting more weight into his arms. He also sits a little more actually on Martin, though still mostly supported by his legs. "I'm just sayin'. You don't wanna screw up your back while you're still young 'n' handsome 'n' all." He pulls his thumbs along to either side of the spine, pressing tense muscle away from it. "Which reminds me. Any luck findin' any of those things on my list, yet?"
Martin bears up well under the manhandling. He's a bundle of tension, but he's also fairly strong. There is the undertone of a groan in his voice as he mumbles, "Sure, finding them has been a lot easier than finding you, my friend. I've got things for you in storage here in Haven."
Serendipity is not nearly as strong as Martin, but the strength in his hands and arms is more than decent nonetheless, more than enough to alternately coax and force the muscle fibers into their proper places. That undertone seems to encourage him a bit. "Yeah? Mm, shoulda asked someone, if I didn't tell you b'fore... mostly you c'n find me at the treehouse, by th' lake. 's where I'm livin' lately."
Martin seems to be drifting a little, a testament to the amount of relaxation going on. It gives his voice a vague, dreamy quality. "I must've come by when you weren't around," he says. "I haven't been making as many trips to Haven as before. There's a lot of stuff to move further south, what with the planting season upon us."
"Mm," Ren agrees, moving down to attack the lower back. "...not s'prised. Prolly needin' all sortsa tools 'n' seeds 'n' stuff, yeah?" He grins, leaning down a little so his mouth is fairly near Martin's ear, just barely near enough that the warmth of his breath passes by it when he speaks; it's as close as he can do while still working on the stubborn lower muscles. "D'you miss us when you're gone?" he inquires playfully.
Martin laughs softly, and one blue eye opens to peer up at Ren. The rest of his face is obscured by the loose sleeve of his linen shirt and the windblown tangle of his hair, but if one pays attention, one can make out a dimple that goes along with a smile. "Of course I do," he says mildly. "I often think about Haven when I'm away."
Serendipity smiles back, staying right where he is despite the fact that it isn't the most comfortable position to be massaging in. "Yeah? An' what d'you think about us, then?" he continues, quirking a brow slightly in reply to that eye.
Martin gives a slight shake of his head and lets his eyes drift closed again. "I think about you fondly," he says with a dry tone. "I wonder how the boys are doing with their workshop, and if they'll have any more suncatchers to send with me to trade. I think about Miki, though now with a great deal more concern than before. I think about the people here, and how they're... interesting."
"...you still have gorgeous eyes," Ren murmurs, and pushes somewhat up again, palms flat to spread the weight solidly against Martin's back. He mostly-sits on the trader's rear now, going back to his proper work. "More int'restin' than other places, y'think?" he asks conversationally. "..and d'you mean interestin' like, unusual an' intriguing, or interestin' like, 'my mama said if y'can't say anything nice...'"
Martin laughs quietly and says, "A little of all that. And thank you. My father says I have my grandfather's eyes." He pauses, then adds, "Which I hope I don't, because that would beg the question what happened to my own."
Serendipity laughs once. "Recyclin' at its finest," he remarks. "...but your eyes don't look old 'nough for that, 'f y'ask me. How old're you, anyhow?"
Martin chuckles, and the sound is accompanied by the vibration of his body. He seems to be relaxing quite nicely, even if it seems to be making him a bit lethargic. "Twenty-two," he replies.
"Good age," Ren decides approvingly, and adds, "Personally, I got =my= grandfather's coat." He slips out of said article of clothing, now that he thinks of it, and sets it on the floor beside him before going back to the massage. Now that the worst of the knots are out, he starts going over all of the muscles again, going for what remains of the tension. "How long've you been tradin'?"
Martin seems content to drift vaguely, lapsing in and out of paying attention, and his muscles respond to the massaging well. "Hmm? Oh, not very long. About a year now. I was working with Manhattan Salvage before that, scavenging on ships. Godawful life. I had to find something else to do."
"'Relia useta work on ships," Ren remarks, hands wandering. "I worked on a couple now'n then, just up the rivers, myself." One hand slips up and toys with a few strands of hair, then brushes fingertips very lightly over the back of the trader's neck. "I take it y'like this better," he adds, a touch quieter.
Martin tilts his head a little, causing his hair to tumble over his brow, and his neck to be a little more exposed. "Lots," he says quietly. "I wasn't ever happy on the ships. Trading's what my people do, back home, so it wasn't hard to pick it up again."
Serendipity nods, letting his fingers trace slow and light into the hair at the base of Martin's skull, and down along the skin to a couple inches below the neck of his shirt. "Mine too. Tradin' and fixin' things. Figure eventually I'll be doin' that again too..."
Martin comments wryly, "We always return to what we are." He says it as though quoting from rote rather than an original sentiment. He sighs softly, and he seems to sink into the cushions as he relaxes more, sprawling out bonelessly. Unfortunately, he also seems to be favoring unconsciousness more than paying attention. "Like it, though. Like meeting people."
Serendipity starts to respond, then pauses as Martin lets out a tiny sound that resembles nothing so much as a snore. He leans down, checking, and laughs quietly when he discovers that yes, the blond has fallen asleep. "Damn," he murmurs ruefully, and brushes his lips across the back of the man's neck, then sighs as he pushes up to his feet and stretches. With a glance at the clock to check the time, he disappears briefly into the stacks to find the book for which he originally came, and then stretches out beside the sleeping trader, stealing some of his warmth while he reads.