*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 is tucked into them at the waist; the collar of it's left mostly unlaced, the ends of the cord hanging down. 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.
Unruly black hair, long enough to nearly reach the girl's waist, falls in tangles around a gypsy's face. Both the shade of the girl's skin and the cast of her features speak of a Mediterranean heritage: her nose is a little long, her cheekbones high, her complexion a mild olivine tan. Her eyes are not dark, but a peculiar shade of hazel-green. She is of a middling height for a woman, perhaps five and a half feet, lithe and lean, all whipcord muscle with barely an ounce of softness.
She wears a simple tunic of undyed, soft-tanned deerskin: a single hide with a hole in the center for the neck, belted at the waist with some sort of woven fiber; it hangs in a ragged, uneven fall that barely covers her thighs.
Safi lies stretched out on the floor, on her stomach, a thin volume open in front of her. Her bare ankles are crossed, feet sticking up in the air like a teenager flopped on a bed.
The door opens, letting in a brief gust of light snow and a Serendipity, who glances around as if hoping to spot something, and looks a touch disappointed when he doesn't. He slips off his coat, hanging it on the rack where it can drip-dry without harming books, and wanders toward one of the trolleys, stopping short when he notices Safi. "...hey, beautiful," he greets casually. "Whatcha readin'?"
Safi glances toward the door, and then averts her eyes, her cheeks coloring slightly. "A book," she answers. The spare look of the lines on the page might suggest poetry.
Serendipity arches a brow, smirking. "=Oh=, a =book=. And here I thought you might be readin' a mouse. Or a mountain. ...or a moray." He steps over the girl -- without, it might be noted, touching her at all -- and finishes making his way to the trolley, where he picks through the books.
"I was... not nice, at you," she says quietly. "Before. I am sorry."
Serendipity blinks, looking away from whatever book caught his momentary fancy and over his shoulder at her. "...What, you mean the night at the Diner?"
Safi shakes her head minutely. "The woods." She looks to him. "When you saw."
Serendipity grins. "Oh, that. Heh. No problem, ducks. It's all good." He shrugs, and goes back to looking through the selection. On closer inspection, there's something slightly listless about the book pawing.
"Who do you look for?" she asks in her accented voice. Her eyes remain downcast, watching the words on the page.
Serendipity seems to start to answer, then pause, and glance over his shoulder again, one eyebrow slightly raised. "...we're in a library; what makes ya think it's a who and not a what?" he inquires, with what seems like genuine curiosity, rather than a rebuke.
"Because it is," she murmurs. "Are you in love with the pretty boy, too?"
Serendipity turns, and leans against the trolley, hands on the edge of it, to face Safi. "What, Miki? Nah. I mean, I =like= the guy, he can be fun, he's interesting, he's unfairly gorgeous, an' yeah, given half the chance I'd fuck 'im 'til he broke, but no, I'm not =in love= with him," he replies easily , "Or anyone else, for that matter."
Safi glances over to him, frowning slightly. "Til he broke? What does zis mean?"
Serendipity grins crookedly and arches a brow again. "...heh. If you don't know, Jack's not doin' his job," he teases. "...It means... lessee, how do I put this? Keep goin' 'til he wore out and couldn't take it anymore. Go at it for hours. Days. Weeks without stopping. ...a'ight, maybe not weeks, but it's hyperbole to start with." He pauses, and amens, "=Slight= hyperbole."
Color comes to her skin--not embarassment, but memory. With a faint, dreamy smile, she murmurs, "Ah. I know zis, yes. Until you are too tired to go on..." She wriggles a little against the floor, with the delight of it.
Serendipity's expression goes a touch dreamy itself, if a little... well... all right, a lot lascivious. "Tired, sore, hungry, bruised, optionally surrounded by broken furniture... yeah. Like that." He sighs, shaking it off, and stretches skyward a moment, arching his back. A couple vertebrae pop.
Safi closes the book and sets it aside--Sappho, no less. She rolls onto her back with a languid grace, one knee propped up a little. She looks hazily up at the ceiling. One hand ghosts down over the curve of a breast. "Mmm. I like that. When you hurt to walk, aftair."
Serendipity grins again, watching unselfconsciously, tucking his thumbs lightly into his pockets. "Yeah... when you can't walk at all at first, and you spend the next few days bein' reminded how good it was every time you move. That's what =I= call a good pain, y'know?"
"Mmmm..." There is a flush on her cheeks, as she lets her hand drift aimlessly over the suede. "I think maybe I go find Jack, now. To do zis."
Serendipity hehs, looking the girl over again. "Lucky Jack," he murmurs, and half-turns, toying with a few of the books in the trolly. "...wonder what Sean's up to 'bout now."
Abruptly, the girl sits up and shakes out her hair. "Ze doctor?" she grins. "I like him. He is nice, he teaches me words a lot, and he says to talk how evair I talk is okay." She rolls to her feet, leaving poor Sappho discarded on the floor--and then she turns and heads for the door.
"Mm, yeah," Ren agrees, "I like 'im too. He's... got a lotta good qualities, I c'n vouch for that." He toys with the idea, apparently, as Safi heads for the door. "Well... good luck findin' your loverboy, babe. Catch ya later. Hope you're limping." He tosses her a wink, and turns back to prod at the books.
She is smiling, as she ducks out into the cold wind.