The room is fairly large, once the home of all the library's materials that fell under the heading of 700: Arts. Nearly all were taken along in the move to the new library, although a few particularly tatty specimens appear to have been left behind on one of the remaining bookshelves, of which there are several. One other is also still actually being used for its original purpose, bearing a collection of rather newer books in varying condition. Another seems to have become an ersatz dresser, with neatly folded clothing on the shelves and a towel hanging over one corner to dry. A wheeled suitcase seems to be acting as a drinks cabinet next to a desk and a pair of rickety chairs; most of the other furniture has been removed or shoved against a wall, out of the way, including a stained and lumpy twin mattress sitting on its short end. It's a corner room, and there are two many-paned, arch-topped windows in each of the outer walls. On one side, a queen-size mattress in much better repair is laid on the floor between them, with pillows and linens on it suggesting it sees regular use.
Compact is the word for him: wiry, maybe 5'6" in his beat-up black combat boots, with a sense of compressed energy and imminence like a coiled spring -- or a cocked gun. Never quite still for long, balance flowing through the balls of his feet. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue-green eyes, the colour contrasting with his fair skin and spiky copper hair; just below the left is what at first appears to be a faint mole, but closer inspection reveals as a small, long-healed scar. His features are appealing, with high cheekbones and a good jawline, but it's the confident mien and roguish smile that most often seem to draw people in.
He's in a well-worn biker jacket of the traditional sort, all fairly closely fit black leather and silvery zippers and snaps. Beneath it, he's got a short-sleeved black shirt, untucked and well-fitted, with brass studs around the cuffs and edge of the collar, and old black jeans with the rip in one knee and the cuffs half walked off. There's a couple leather-and-bead bracelets on one wrist and a length of ball-chain disappearing beneath his collar; his nails were apparently painted black some time ago, since they're starting to show chips. Late teens, most likely, and when he speaks it's in a mellifluous, southern-accented baritone voice.
Thick honey-blonde hair, styled in a poofy set of curls, rings this pretty blue-eyed young woman's head. She's in her late teens, and her hair's currently left down, though it's occasionally pinned up. She stands about five and a half feet tall, and is a little on the thin side of things, though not to an extreme. She dresses mostly in informal styles, from ripped jeans and tank tops to the occasional sundress.
Currently, she wears the former, her black tank top emblazoned with a large sequined red heart, and her jeans so ripped as to be nearly indecent. About half of the heart's sequins are missing. Her feet are clad in red strappy lightly-heeled sandals that have seen better days. She wears little in the way of jewelry, just a black wooden bracelet, a stainless steel and rhinestone mood ring, and (probably fake) gold earrings. When she speaks, a fairly thick Southern accent is evident.
After Felix and Salem have finished talking, Lilah looks ready to head home, though she'll walk wherever Felix leads her, companionably quiet. She doesn't seem upset, nor bothered by what's going on, though of course when Salem said what's up she looked pretty concerned in that moment. Now, though, she's back to her usual self, swinging their arms a little as they go.
Despite the fact that his plans for the evening got cut short and didn't really go nearly how he had in mind, Felix seems to be in a pretty good mood still, still overflowing with energy, though it doesn't give the impression of being under as much pressure as it does on the larger moons. His usual saunter's very much to some unheard rhythm as they walk, until nearing the Library he breaks out in, "Burn down the disco, hang the blessed DJ! Because the music that they constantly play, it says nothing to me about my life; hang the blessed DJ, because the music they constantly play..." He gives Lilah a bit of a twirl if she cooperates, and continues down the street with her, humming to himself and swinging arms again.
That twirl is more than allowed, and Lilah grins at his singing, swaying her hips occasionally to the tune of it. She brings their shared hands up to her lips, kissing his lightly, and then it's back to arm-swinging and humming along with him. She probably doesn't know the song, judging by the way she only hums bits he's sung before. Her eyes are on him as they walk.
Felix continues to look quite pleased with the world, even if it does contain Spirals in it. "...shit," he says suddenly as they head up the steps, "I hope this doesn't mean I gotta stop goin' there. I mean, ain't like there aren't other options, but that place's nice an' easy." For some reason whatever train of thought that leads to over the next second or so reaches, "I need a fuckin' band." It's apparently frustrating enough to dim his mood, but not enough to entirely change it.
"Well. Maybe just f'r now, an' later it'll work out? Does seem like it'd be a real shame to hafta stop goin' there altogether." Lilah tilts her head to consider him for a moment, and then asks, "You need a band?" It's not a denial of the need, but it *is* full of curiousity. "Wish I played somethin', but getting my hands to each do somethin' opposite'd make m'head hurt."
"Badly. Deeply. Desperately!" Felix declares, getting full-on melodramatic by the last one, but he still seems to mean it. "At the least I need a drummer an' a bass player. Still. Anyway, hands ain't doin' things opposite, just different. And your head ain't that involved in that part after a while." He sighs. "Ain't no kinda fair, fuckers like that gettin' to perform anyhow." He makes a face, and then shakes it off, breaking into a grin, "...that was fun, though."
Around when Felix is making that face, Lilah stops and wraps her free hand around his neck, more of a comfort thing than anything. She grins back to him when he does, and starts to take halting steps into the Library, still holding onto him. It's a little awkward. "You were amazin'," she praises him. "When you said he was a bad DJ, an' talked about why dancin's important. Had me ready to applaud, but I couldn't on account o' bein' on the down-low."
Felix gives her a grin at that praise that by rights ought to be accompanied by one of those light glints that go 'ting!' on the teeth. "See, that's how you know this is real life an' not a movie, 'cause if it was a movie everyone woulda had to applaud," he says, "...well, assumin' I'm the hero, anyway. But I reckon that's a safe assumption." It's tricky to tell how serious that is; he seems amused, but maybe not joking per se.
"Safe enough for me, at any rate," Lilah grins right back, but sadly hers don't go 'ting' either. In her case, it's just a pleased grin, but we can't have everything. "If people ever applaud ya, I'll make sure t'pinch myself. An' you," she teases, and then leads them in toward the stairs up.
"If they =ever= applaud me? Harsh, doll," Felix says, shaking his head and reining in the grin, though not quite far enough to be taken seriously. He follows her up the stairs easily enough, though he does glance over at his guitar along the way. "Who doesn't like applause? Ain't like I never got none, neither. Just not real recently."
"That's me... harsh," Lilah laughs softly, shaking her head. She squeezes his hand and then suddenly pauses on the stairs, retrieving her hand and starting up a slow clap that gets faster and more hearty as she goes. As she does, she smiles at him fondly, nothing mocking about it, saying: "I'll applaud ya whether other people do 'r not. For yer geetar playin', yer singin', yer dancin'. For the way you put that stinkin' DJ in his place. For findin' a pack so quick-like, an' impressin' OhNo!. For freein' them spirits with Frederick an' the others, an' for catchin' that pixie. ...for gettin' me outta Alabama. For yer excellent gift-giving capabilities. ...an' for actin' weird, sometimes." And there, the applause stops, and she leans in to try and kiss him.
Felix pauses when she stops, letting her retrieve her hand, and at the beginning of the clap, it being slow like that, arches a brow, leaning against the banister while he watches her. The increase and her words get a slow smile out of him, growing as she goes on, and when she starts leaning in he's already reaching out to reclaim her hand and tug her in for a sound kissing himself. His other arm slips around her waist, drawing her closer.
Predictably, there's no protest to that sound kissing, nor being drawn closer. Lilah returns that kiss, pressed up against him, her eyes on him as it lingers. When it does finally break, she stays close to him, her forehead pressed against his and her free hand stroking his cheek, as she is wont to do. Having said her piece, apparently, she has nothing further to say at the moment.
"You prolly deserve any applause there oughta be for me actin' weird," Felix says, and steals another kiss, this one softer and briefer. "...well, weird for me, anyway. Weird for other folks maybe depends." He lets go of her waist, keeping her hand as he takes the lead this time to head up the stairs.
"I reckon I like when you act weird-- weird for you, or weird for other folks." Lilah returns that kiss, and then moves to head up the stairs with him, smiling softly. She squeezes his hand, and looks pretty happy with her place in the world, at least at the moment.
Felix looks reasonably pleased with his own, although that's not particularly unusual. Especially when he's leading Lilah toward their room. For some reason. "I just realised," he says as he opens the door for her, "you didn't end up gettin' to dance at =all=, did you? We could go somewhere else, if you wanna, an' fix that."
It's some kind of bizarre Pavlovian reaction on his part. Surely we'll never understand the connection. "I reckon I don't need a club t'dance." Lilah smiles and slips into their room without hesitation. Kicking her shoes off, whatever she happened to be wearing that I'm too lazy to dream up, she adds, "Besides... I dance better barefoot."
"It's not the same without the crowds," Felix says, but unlike previous times it's come up, he doesn't seem bothered or inclined to push about it. He leans down to undo his boots, stepping out of them, and tosses his jacket onto the desk. His phone comes out of his pocket, and he pokes at it a moment or two, then sets it more gently on the desk as well; speakerphone is tinny and not as loud as he'd probably prefer, but it does successfully transmit music into the room. And prove he's discovered MP3s. Can't be good for his stash of minutes. He pads over to Lilah and makes a deep, sweeping bow, then offers his hand. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Sinclair?" It doesn't at all match the mood of the music, but he doesn't currently seem to care.