This floor seems to consist of one huge room, covering the area of both the cafe and the bookshop below. None of the walls can be seen; any area of the wall not containing a window is covered with bookcases. Further shelves divide the room into individual sections. Small signs hanging from the ceiling serve to direct one to the general area of interest. The air in the room seems slightly cool and dry, possibly climate control to help preserve the books. Ceiling lamps hang from above, but the room here is slightly darker than the floor below, since there are no white wall surfaces to reflect light. Also, the windows are fairly small and narrow, so damaging sunlight won't fade the books. Half of the room seems devoted to used books, while the other half holds older, rare volumes. Various chairs are scattered around the sections, allowing one to browse through a book in comfort, and several reading stands are available to aid in holding heavier books.
A spiral staircase leading down can be found close to one of the windows. It's set about halfway down the length of the room, close to the north wall.
God, he's thin. So painfully skinny, scarcely a hundred pounds on his 5'4" frame, if that; all slim lines and delicate angles. His features are finely drawn, high cheekbones and classically beautiful bone structure; his dark eyes, dusted with golden-brown shadow and lined with black kohl and mascara, are made large and luminous by his spareness and the paleness of his skin. Feathery, true black hair, shining blue when the light hits it, falls constantly across his face, curls down around his ears, flirts with the nape of his neck. The overall effect is at once disquietingly fragile and ethereally lovely.
His black t-shirt hangs loosely, adorned with an apparently hand-painted scene of Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire, done in shades of grey. The paint is beginning to crackle and fade; the shirt is apparently beloved and far from new. Beneath it, his white jeans fit closely -- it's amazing he could find them small enough -- and, perhaps predictably, disappear into battered black knee-high combat-style boots. Black enamel coats his nails; it, too, is chipped. Overall, he wears a rather expensive-looking ankle-length woolen coat, hanging open and letting the breezes in. He appears to have no jewelry, no piercings, no tattoos; no such adornment of any kind.
This young girl is around 5'6", of slender yet muscular build, and seems to be Hispanic/Italian/African in descent. That mixed heritage represents itself in the color of her skin, which happens to be almost caramelish in hue. The color of her eyes are a mix of amber with chocolate brown flecks scattered about in them. Her right eyebrow is pierced with a single metal hoop, as are both earlobes. Her tongue is pierced as well. Some things are a little different about her now, such as her clothes and the aura she gives off. While not aggressive, she tends to have a 'you really don't want to mess with me' vibe going on around her, but still manages to keep a friendly, warm look in her eyes. She's even had a change of hairstyle: gone is the simple ponytail she used to wear, replaced by hundreds of pencil-thick braids that are left to hang freely, the ends still dyed that familiar shade of flame red she always wears. Her bangs have been braided along with the rest of her hair, but she still wears a bandana around her forehead.
The black jeans are gone, replaced with a pair of equally baggy faded blue cargos with a rip in the left knee, and missing one of the back pockets. It's been torn off by something, leaving only the thinner, lighter blue fabric beneath. A black meshlike belt manages to hold up the pants and keep them from sagging down too far, but like the pants the belt isn't in the best of condition. It's slightly frayed around the edges, but looks like it'll last for a bit longer. A red hooded sweatshirt is worn, unzipped, over an extra large football-style jersey, colored red, grey, and black. '00' is displayed on the jersey in big, white embroidered numbers, standing out against the darker fabric surrounding it. Her shoes are just a regular old pair of black, worn in sneakers. Nothing fancy.
Ebis "Ebony" Knight is a tall lanky youth of perhaps twenty years, darkly colored by nature, though countering this somewhat via his mode of dress. To look at, one might assume him to be of African descent; his skin is a dark chocolate hue, complimented by near-black eyes. His hair would also be black if he ever let it grow, the young man perpetually seen with a shaved head. Despite his looks however, his accent would instead belie his upbringing in England, Ebony's polite tones something of a constant whatever his mood.
His build is rather tall and scrawny, prone to long and gangly limbs and a slim torso rather than laying down fat or much muscle, though this is partly obscured by the loose clothing he wears. Today sees him clothed in a pair of very baggy purple jeans, a little torn and frayed around the hem where they drag on the floor, half-obscuring a pair of well-worn-in sneakers. Covering his torso is a /bright/ yellow shirt with a short comic strip on it, of a goldfish illustrating it's bad memory. His head, rather than left shaven and unadorned as usual, is now home to a loose woolen hat, coloured in soft orange and blue hues. Apparently, he's one for colour.
A strikingly handsome youth in his early Twenties or late teens, with smooth dark skin and narrowed dark-brown eyes. He's muscled but not very bulky; lean and defined instead of hard and blocky. He's got long brown hair that sometimes flops into his eyes.
He's wearing a short-sleeved 'Indigo Girls' T-shirt. The shirt is tucked into light blue worn Levi's which are, in turn, tucked into motorcycle boots. He wears a scuffed and mended dark tan leather jacket. A couple of small tokens can be seen sewn onto or dangling from his belt or boottops; a touch of the primitive. A small steel earring composed of two interlinked rings with arrows shines on his right ear, along with two other bright gold hoops.
Here stands a young man nearing the age of twenty-one, thin, pale, and not much to look at. When once he was a shy, mild mannered and ignored computer nerd who couldn't weigh much more then a hundred when wet, now stands the exact same person, yet, gothlike. The glasses on his face reveal the pair of blue eyes he bares. His black hair still sprawls out over his face, but no longer dipped in blonde about his bangs, just a solid darkness.
His clothing has changed dramatically as well, having abandoned the button down shirts and slacks, replacing it with baggy dark jeans, a solid black shirt that simply reads: "Chicks dig scrawny pale guys" A long, ankle length trenchcoat billows about his thin frame, nearly cloaking him like a cape. Upon his feet is a pair of heavy steel toed boots, those which travel halfway up his calf. Chains adorn his jeans, three hanging off his wallet, and two more simply embedded into the fabric, jingling and clanking as he walks. To finish off his ungodly apparel, there is a leather collar bound around his neck, with a small metal skull dangling from the end of a steel hoop.
A shock of electric blue hair spills down just over this teenager's brow, whispering at the nape of his neck as well; slightly long both in front and in back, a razor's work having shaved the sides just above and behind his ears into a buzz-cut haze of cerulean. The features of the night-pale face shadowed by that hair are slightly angular in their lines, high cheekbones leading down to a sharp chin matched by the straight line of his nose, the eyes to either side of it a startlingly bright shade of green that gleams almost emerald in the right light. He's a rather slender young man, in height just a few inches shy of a full six feet, although a touch of leanness to his limbs hints at the recent development of muscle to strengthen his frame.
He's dressed in a rather casual fashion, with a few flares of individuality to make him stand out. A hooded jacket of waterproof nylon taffeta falls over his upper body, midnight black in sheen with streaks of deepest blue to add a bit of colour to the garment, its large velcro-closed pockets bulging slightly with a variety of hidden contents. Beneath that can be seen, when the jacket's open or off, of a less glossy black -- a sweatshirt of a warm cotton weave worn slightly loose against his slender frame, but comfortable. His hands are gloved, black leather and polyester mesh offering more of a stylish commentary than actually protecting the fingers within from the elements. A pair of black jeans cover his legs, the tough denim fabric scraped to a paler white at his knees and a few spots near the cuffs where they brush over the edge of hi-top sneakers crusted with mud and dirt from walking outdoors.
Tall and dark, he stands a few inches over six feet, a well-built and rather dangerous-looking man somewhere around thirty years old. A mane of thick black hair, usually gathered into a loose ponytail that hangs nearly to the middle of his back, frames a somber, hawkish face, the left side of which is twisted by scars. If not for this disfigurement, he could be considered handsome -- albeit in a dour, moody, saturnine kind of way. His face is one designed for brooding and cynicism, and the short black beard that lines his mouth and jaw makes him look all the more satanic. His left eye is dead white, lost within the tangled jungle of scar tissue covering that side of his face; his good eye, on the right, is dark brown, not quite black. Both are shadowed, as if from lack of sleep. In short, he has the look of the very devil about him, or of a Christ figure gone bad.
His attire is strictly monotone, black on black, plain t-shirt and BDU pants and combat boots that have been well broken-in. Something hangs from a cord around his neck but is tucked away under the shirt, out of view. The tails of his long black winter coat hang just past his knees, thick and voluminous, cloaklike, with a hood that's usually down.
The used book section is nearly empty, this morning -- but not entirely, not quite. Raphael's curled into the corner of one of the larger, plusher chairs, legs twined beneath him, holding a slightly dusty looking and more than slightly huge old tome of some kind. The combination of the book and chair makes him look even smaller than he usually is, almost childsize.
Rising up from the floor below comes a riot of colour. Well, more colourful than most of the patrons who make their way up here, anyhow. Ebony has a somewhat wary air about him as he explores the second level, taking a moment and marvelling at the size and apparent age of the books in the rare section, though they're given only a brief glance. He makes his way across to the 'used' half, trying to move as quietly as possible, lest he disturb someone's reading.
Raphael glances up at the noise of the staircase, and watches Ebony expressionlessly for several moments before returning to his book. Hard to tell what it is, but it's probably from the rare section rather than just used.
Carefully selecting a book, the roachkin clasps it against his chest and looks around, his eyes settling on the room's other occupant for a moment as he tries to decide where to sit. Well, damn, someone more goth-looking than his flatmate. Who knew? Still, after this brief revelation, he moves to a slightly less-plush chair, not too far from the other reader.
You paged Ebony with 'You should see my club gear. >:)'.
From afar, to the room, Ebony fears? :)
You paged Ebony with 'As well you should.'.
There are quite a few moments of silence, then, nothing but breath and the turning of pages, just long enough that one might begin to get interested in one's book. And then a quiet, rather precise voice. "You're in my light," Raphael remarks, nearly conversational and entirely unapologetic.
Ebony startles slightly, the sound of a voice shattering his tentative concentration. Resting his hand on the page he's on, so it doesn't try and flip closed, he peers over at the speaker somewhat owlishly. "Your...light?" he echoes stupidly for a moment, then realisation clicks, and he closes his book....forgetting to note the page number. "Oh, sorry." Rising, he looks for another seat, though it takes him a long few moments to find one suitable. "Didn't mean anythin' by it." The latter, added just in case the kooky goth thinks about cursing him. Who knows what freakish things he's reading up?
"Thank you." Polite, at least. Well, sort of. Raphael doesn't even actually look up from his book, continuing his reading on whatever freakish thing it might be. Not the friendliest person ever to patronize the shop.
Ebony makes a slight sound of annoyance as he settles, realising he's got to re-find his page. Grumble. And, after finding it, it dosen't seem quite so interesting anymore; at least, not while his mind is conjuring up wild hexes and rituals as pertaining to the other book's content. So, attempting to be unobvious about it, he tries to sneak a look at the larger tome's title.
It's hard to make it out -- partly from the position the book's being held in, and partly from the age and use of the book. Some of the gilt's flaked out of the indentions of the title. From what one can make out, though, it looks as though it might deal with ghosts in some manner.
"Ghosts?" Ebony voices, mostly to himself, brows furrowing once he realises he spoke aloud. Stupid kinsman. Clearing his throat, he hastily looks down to his own reading material, as if he'd said nothing. Dum de dum. Nothing to see here.
Raphael looks up, and focuses on Ebony for a few moments again. "Yes. An English doctor's research into tales of hauntings and other supernatural occurrences in Britain and on the continent. From the late nineteenth century. It's an interesting book." And that, it would seem, is that, as he returns to where he left off in reading it.
Ebony snorts softly, shaking his head. "Y'don't wanna believe everythin' y'read," he comments, his accent coming into full force as his homeland enters into the conversation. "I s'posedly lived in the 'dead center' of th' country, and we never saw a thin'."
Raphael glances to Ebony again, just a flick of eyes from book to man and back to book. "The hat may have frightened them off," he replies, without any malice, but if it's a joke it's a remarkably deadpan one. "At any rate, you'll be pleased to know in a number of cases he's found the tales merely to be tales and the reactions of suggestible people."
Apparently taking it as a joke, the englishman quirks a slight grin. "So what about th' cases that weren't just smoke an' imagination?" he prompts, curious despite himself.
Raphael flips back through the book quite a few pages, marking his spot with a finger so as not to lose it. "...there was a case in a castle in Germany where a young woman committed suicide rather than marry her betrothed. Apparently, she was already pregnant by someone unsuitable. She threw herself off the battlements. He determined that whether it were her or some other force, there was =something= supernatural in the castle, moving things, for example. Also an unearthly sobbing in one of the towers which didn't appear to coincide with the weather." He shrugs slightly, glancing up at Ebony, who's sitting in one of the chairs not too far from the big plush one he himself is curled up into the corner of. The book he's reading is huge and old, and combined with the chair, make him seem even smaller than he really is.
Ebony cocks his head slightly, the book in his own lap mostly forgotten for the nonce. "Damn. Must be bad for the tourists, though, if this sobbing is still goin' on," he observes cheerfully, with little apparent reverence for the story's sombre note.
The sound of shoes on wooden steps echoes as Quentin makes his way along up the winding spiral curve of the staircase and onto the second floor; absently brushing one hand back through the brilliant blue of his hair, whistling an off-beat little tune under his breath. It's not whistled badly, however.
Raphael glances over at the sound on the stairs, again, and eyes Quentin's hair with interest for a moment before looking back to Ebony. "You would suppose so, wouldn't you? At least if they were expected to sleep there. Apparently in the late eighteen hundreds there was quite a good traffic in haunting tourism, though. For those who could afford it."
Ebony rolls his eyes, amused at the lure of the undead for tourists. "Freaks," he comments dryly, before likewise looking towards the sound of steps. A pause, a blink and a slight tilt of his head at the quasi-familiar figure, though it never had blue hair before. "....Quentin?" he hazards softly.
A blink upwards past brightly-coloured bangs draws Quentin's gaze in the direction of his name, and he pauses a moment before offering over a slight, crooked smile in Ebony's direction. "Hey, Eb," he calls over, turning with a rasp of his heel against the floor to head over in their direction, "Been awhile."
Raphael gives Ebony a little shrug, and flips back to his marked position in the book, settling in to get going in the chapter.
You paged the room with 'Probably my last pose, though I might get one more in. Can't be sure. Phone meeting very soon. Can't pose 'til it's over, once it starts.'.
Ebony flicks the other roachie a loose salute, entirely abandoning his own reading for now, the book being closed and set aside. "Yeah. Like the hair," he comments in reply.
"Thanks," Quentin replies, a faint chuckle just-audible in his voice, "Got it done while I was down in LA.." A glance over towards the other guy, an amiable nod before with a glance to Ebony he asks, "So how ya been?"
Raphael is really paying too much attention to his book, now, even to notice the nod. At least it gives one the feeling of not being spied on.
Ebony mms, stretching his arms out and settling back into the comfortable chair. "Pretty good...work's tough, but the hours are good. How're you gettin' on, after yer little trip up the country?"
Quentin's shoulders roll in a casual shrug, one hand splaying to the side, "Oh, not bad. It was a good trip, met Rhi an' Fran's family and all.. good people. Nice beaches, down that way."
Ebony grins a bit. "Beaches. That's about all I know 'bout LA," he comments dryly. "That, and surfin'. Never really heard anythin' else." He waves over to a seat opposing his own, inviting Quentin to at least sit.
Quentin hesitates a moment before stepping over to settle down, admitting, "I've got some stuff to go do, but I can hang out for a bit at least.." A second glance over towards Raphael, brow furrowing slightly as though curious about something, before he looks back over towards Ebony and leans forwards against his knees. "So. Everyone's been doing alright while I was gone?"
Ebony mms, making a slightly helpless gesture with his hands. "Yeah, I guess. Don't really see any of the guys 'part from Jeremy, though I hang out with 'nee's family a bit more now," he murmurs vaguely. "Don't think you've missed anythin' too major."
"Well, that's cool.." Quentin shrugs one shoulder, "Jer's doin' alright, then? He still with 'yana, I hope?"
Ebony nods. "S'right," the kinsman agrees. "They're happy enough, though Jer's been workin' a lot lately. Don't think they see eachother much...hell, I don't see him much between his shifts and mine."
Quentin nods just a little, seeming pleased with that first part at least. "Good.. good. I was gettin' worried there for awhile. They're good for each other."
Ebony hehs softly. "She's plannin' on changin' Jer's wardrobe," he warns softly. "Tryin to de-goth him somehow. Best I could do is make 'em promise there'd be no pink involved."
Quentin's brows leap upwards at that, a laugh rising from his lips before he realizes it. "Oh, god. That should be amusing.." A pause, "..maybe I should bring her to the Sanrio store.."
Ebony's eyes light up somewhat at that. "Do it," he agrees. "I swear not to let Jeremy know you were involved, either," he adds with a dry chuckle.
Quentin flashes over a rather wicked grin, and suggests ever so innocently, "'Hello Jeremy'."
Ebony can't quite stifle another laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Evil," he observes. "I think 'yana'll like it."
Quentin pretends to polish his knuckles on the lapel of his jacket, musing, "Well, I do have a certain way of doing things, I admit.. "
Ebony chuckles softly. "I don't wanna be there when you do take her down to Sanrio. It'll be like....toy heaven, fer her."
Quentin grins a bit, "It's a scary thought, I know."
Ebony grins crookedly. "Maybe you'll have to get Jeremy to take her down there on a date, sometime, when she's done training."
Quentin is seated in a chair just across from Ebony, leaning forwards with both hands clasped between his knees. Of course, given his appearance, he might not be recognized at first. A laugh; "He'd kill us."
Up the stairs strides the goth kin of the roaches, carrying a heavy looking backpack and a smaller one over another shoulder. Ebon said something about going here for brunch later and to snag some new reading material, and despite his best judgement, he decided to come out for some sunlight.
Ebony snickers, though it's cut short as he spies who's arriving. "Oh, hey Jer!" he calls over, a touch more loudly to draw Quentin' attention to the fact that aforementioned murderer is amongst us.
Jeremy pages to the room: and you!!!! YOU! Another Goth kin!? This town ain't big enough for the two of us!
From afar, to the room, Quentin chants, "TWO GOTHS ENTER! ONE GOTH LEAVES!"
Raphael is curled in a big, plush chair, a big, rather less plush book open on his lap. It makes him look even smaller than he really is. He looks up at the sound of the stair and greeting, and studies Jeremy expressionlessly for a moment or two.
You paged the room with 'Then you better get preppy, boy, 'cause I can out-goth you with both hands not even tied behind my back.'.
Jeremy pages to the room: Oh man. I'm a goth IRL. Its so on. LOL
"Eh?" Quentin raises his head, glancing past the electric blue fall of his bangs to catch sight of Jeremy.. and a grin flashes 'cross his lips, as he calls over, "Hey bro!"
"Both of you are excited to see me. Why am I suddenly scared for my life?" Jeremy asks as he places the large bag down at his feet, followed by the second. Chains rattle from his baggy bondage pants, revealing now meat hooks and zipper ties strung out through the denim. Rubbing at his eyes some, he lets out a soft breath, dark black bangs hanging into his face.
Ebony grins crookedly. "Because you're afraid we're gonna whip yo' ass at UT?" he suggests dryly, straightening in his seat.
"..well, I haven't seen you since I went to Los Angeles," Quentin observes, ever so innocently in a way that says they were probably plotting his imminent death mere moments ago.. that grin lingering, head cocking to one side, "So, like. What. I'm not allowed to be happy to see you?"
Raphael considers the trio for a moment longer, then returns to his reading again, looking only vaguely annoyed.
Eyes squint a tad at Quentin and Ebon, then shifts some on his feet. He cuts his gaze over towards Raphael, noticing the other goth near by, then simply gives him a dismissing shrug. "So.. what were you guys talking about? I caught something about someone killing you."
Ebony just settles back and grins, letting Quentin do the talking. Smug kinsman.
"It was me," Raphael remarks without looking up, and without any notable emotion. "I'm very strict about people following the reading room rules." Page turn.
Brow lifting, the other goth peers over. "So who are you, the new librarian?" A smirk tugs upon his thin lips, before glancing at Q an Ebon for confirmation.
Quentin's lips part slightly as though to say something, then close as Raphael speaks. A tip of his head over towards the other goth, and he agrees in almost ominous tones, "Exactly. He's like.. the Hellraiser Librarian."
Ebony mmms softly, keeping quiet. He, apparently, dosen't want to risk the Hellraiser's wrath, making mock-urgent gestures with his hands for Jeremy to sit down.
Raphael just looks up from the book, still nearly expressionless, and cocks an eyebrow. It's an movement he's either practiced or was born to do. No hint of a smile. "Librarian? Hardly. I'm the Domitae Librae," he corrects, with a bit of ominous intonation of his own.
"Mmm.. riiight." Jeremy murmurs as he glances back to Ebony and Quentin, giving them the fisheye. He looks hardly impressed or fearful of a gothic librarian. Which of course, is rather humerous in some way. His brows knit together some as a heavy boot taps the ground lightly. "So... I have to work in a few hours, I just wanted to catch up and say Hi. Its nice to see you back in town, Q."
"Yeah, I need to go do some stuff myself.." Quentin's hands slide down to the edge of the chair, as he pushes himself upwards fully to his feet.. giving his head a toss and flashing a grin back over towards Jeremy, "I'll stop by your place sometime so we can catch up, an' shit."
Raphael cracks something vaguely resembling a smile for the first time -- a tiny upward quirk of one side of his mouth, and glances briefly towards the stairs as they creak before looking back to his book and reading again.
Jeremy scuffs his boot into the ground, then peers at Quentin again for a moment, staring at him. His eyes squint. Loom.
Quentin quirks an eyebrow back at Jeremy, regarding him for a long moment. At last, he breaks the standoff: "...what?"
The sound of footsteps making their way up the staircase can be heard, soft clink-clinks as another person makes their way towards the upstairs room. Hey, it's Aiyana! In a bookstore? Stranger things have happened. Glancing around for a moment as if lost, the Gnawer starts to wander towards a bookshelf nearby.
"Hmph. You aren't scared of that librarian goth." Jeremy says with a smirk, before glancing over his shoulder to Aiyana, features brightening suddenly. He turns himself about and trudges over to her. "Yana'. Hi."
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of books, I shall fear no goths.." It's recited even as Quentin moves to step 'round the chair and head towards the stairs-- pausing as he catches sight of Aiyana, a grin flashing 'cross his lips. "Hey there, 'Yana. I've gotta go, but we have -got- to go shopping sometime. Stop by Rhi's place sometime, eh?"
Aiyana turns, then smiles and waves cheerfully to Q, before moving over to giv Jer a hug. "Shoppin'?" She lifts a brow curiously, but nods. "A'ight, sounds fun. I'll catch ya later, then." Back to Jer now, the cub continues to smile. "Hey, you. Fancy runnin' into you here, hmm? Am I secretly stalkin' you or somethin'?"
"I'd hope so, I wouldn't mind a stalker." Jeremy says as he wraps his arms around her, giving the cub a soft kiss on the lips. Despite his gothy nature, at least he is still kinda cuddly. "An now I'm even more scared.. Quentin shopping with you.. either he's gone gay.. or.." He casts a look to the Walker. "Something is up."
Is something up? Quentin doesn't say a thing, just slipping out..
Aiyana just looks as innocent as can be. "I'll keep that in mind, then. And why would somethin' be up? Maybe he wants to buy somethin' for Lyra, and wants me to go with to help pick somethin' out. You never know." She shrugs, then leans against the oh so snuggly kin. "So, wassup with you? Stopped by the apartment the other day, didn't see ya. But you were probably at work or somethin'."
Ebony stirs from contemplating his book, glancing up and over to wave towards Aiyana. "Hey sis'," he greets softly, a slight smile touching his lips.
Jeremy nods his head. "Back in school also, so I'm either there, work, or home." He smiles and gives her a stronger hug around the waist, then lets her go. "What about you? You can always come over at night, you got the keys."
Aiyana waves to Eb. "Hey, bro! Man, the whole crew here today or what?" she muses, grinning as she puts one of her hands into her hoodie pocket. "I just...wander. Sometimes go to the park, sometimes go to the church. Drop by Lyra's every now and again. Nothin' special. And how do you know I don't sneak in at night anyways? Look over your bed while you're asleep, take pictures..." She gets a devious look on her face and chuckles lowly, then looks around the room again.
Raphael remains comfortably curled into the corner of his large, plush chair, leg curled half under him, while he reads his also notably large old book. It and the chair make him look even smaller than he really is, by comparison. He's also well into the tome, whatever it is, and currently ignoring the chattering people around him in the room.
Ebony stifles a snort at Aiyana's comment, shaking his head. "Man, why'd you want pictures of that ugly thin'?" he prompts the Gnawer, gesturing towards Jeremy. "I don't think him bein' asleep makes it any nicer."
Jeremy huffs softly and slips his hand into Aiyana's, fingers winding around each other. "Eb', do you want me to bring up -your- sleeping habits?" He asks with a smirk, sliding his other arm around Aiyana's waist.
Salem's boots are heavy on the stairs as the Walker climbs up to the second floor. Not yet noticing the others -- definitely preoccupied today -- he heads over toward the section marked 'History'.
Aiyana studies the lithe figure in the giant chair nearby for a moment, then rolls her eyes at Ebony. "Hey, don't make me come over there. I've seen you sleep too, and it ain't nothin' special. At least Jeremy keeps me warm." She sticks out her tongue and moves closer to Jer, blissfully unaware of the approaching Salem. You can almost hear the Jaws theme in the background...
Ebony rolls his eyes, snickering quietly. "I need a lock fer my bedroom door," he decides. "T'keep out threatenin' women with cameras." Salem, however, he does notice, rather like a prey animal catching the first scent of a nearby predator. Ahem. "Uh...morning' Salem," he offers over, rather more politely than he's been to everyone else.
Raphael glances up from his huge old book at the sound of feet on the stairs, as usual, still curled into the corner of his chair, and this time doesn't look down again right away. His eyes widen a touch, and he apparently decides the tall man merits a bit more attention than most people, since he watches him cross the floor, for once.
Jeremy blinks his eyes and lets go of Aiyana quickly, nearly wheeling himself around and tumbling over. Salem is here? He peers around the Gnawer over towards his tribal Elder.
Elan comes up into the used book area, one battered paperback already clutched in one hand. He looks at the stacks uncertainly for a bit, then to the sitting area. He ventures a slight smile when he sees people there, people he's at least seen about, save a couple, so he moves over towards them. He cuts eyes to the back of the Walker that came up before him, frowns slightly, and continues on towards the rest.
Salem glances up sharply, a flat gaze settling on Ebony for a moment, taking in the kinsman and those with him. A heartbeat later, he smiles faintly; the expression doesn't touch his eyes at all. "Ebony. Ah. Good. I was planning to stop by your place later today."
Aiyana blinks, and as soon as Eb mentions that name the cub starts to tense up. It's not visible yet, thank goodness, but her eyes do narrow a little before she returns to her earlier, more cheerful mood. "Relax," she whispers back to Jeremy. "It's all good. Just chill, bro." As Elan approaches the little group she nods to him in greeting, then glances back towards Salem.
Ebony mmms. "You want we should go downstairs an' chat?" he offers towards the Elder, already setting his book aside. "I've got all th' stuff with me you wanted."
Jeremy was almost waiting for Salem to leap out of the shadows and go 'rarr'. Shifting some, he chuckles to himself, head shaking some.
Salem glances sidelong as Elan passes across his field of view, then turns back to Ebony and nods. "That'll be fine." He turns and heads back for the stairs, pausing only briefly to glance at Raphael, in passing.
Ebony rises and heads downstairs, giving the rest of the room some relief from the 'jaws' effect. What a hero!
Aiyana looks back at the Walker kin, then ruffles his hair. "So what're you doin' here? Just hangin' out?"
Raphael watches the exchange, book actually forgotten for the moment, until the creak of the stairs heralds another visitor. He glances over Elan as the Gnawer enters, but glances back to Salem as the Walker passes, catching his gaze for a moment, mesmerized, and looking after him as he passes until he finds Elan again, to finish that assessment he'd begun.
Jeremy nods his head with a chuckle, peering after Salem and Ebon. "Yah, I was looking for Eb' actually, since he mentioned he'd be here for a few hours. I have to get to work in about an hour, so, I was seeing what was up."
Elan frowns again as the Walker Elder crosses his path, and he does a little hike in his step that looks like nothing more than someone trying to ward off bad luck. Seemingly satisfied, the youth continues on to the chairs and finds one to plop himself down in. "Heya," he says, in general.
Aiyana ohs, then pouts a little bit. "I swear, you're always workin'. You need to take a vacation or somethin', man. Relax for a week or so." The cub smiles, shaking her head, causing a few of the long braids to hit her in the shoulders. "Heya yourself," she calls back to Elan. There's someone she hasn't seen in a while.
Jeremy grins and nods his head, glancing over to Elan as well. "Afternoon, Elan." He says, lifting up a hand to wave to the once Gnawer Elder. He gives Aiy's hip a bump, then lets out a sigh. "I should get going tho'. Come over tonight, ok?"
Raphael considers Elan a moment more before returning to his book. Not for long, however; there's a problem, it seems. "You're in my light," he informs the Gnawer, quiet and nearly conversational, thought not at all apologetic.
Elan looks to Jeremy and Aiyana, smiles a bit and starts to add something, then Raphael speaks up. He glances, sees that he's indeed in the light, and slumps bonelessly in the chair, half-across it, so his head and shoulders aren't blocking the light anymore. "Sorry, dude," he says, looking at the handsome gothboy, then looking back to Aiyana. "Back here again, yep. Gonna stay, I think."
Aiyana nudges Jer back, then leans over to give him a soft kiss on the lips. "Will do, bro. Any time, or just kinda drop in?" To Elan, the cub offers a thumbs-up and a grin. "Cool. Need more of the family around, y'know? Kinda thought Lyra, Renee, and I were the only ones left. And that's scary."
"Thank you." See? Polite! Raphael goes back to his book again, this time staying there for the time being, pages turning reasonably often.
Jeremy returns the kiss softly, then starts making his way off, dipping his head to the goth on the couch.
Elan nods to Aiyana. "I know, lil' sis. I know. 's OK; I'll be around for some time, now."
Aiyana goes to sit near Elan after bidding the Walker kin goodbye. "So, you hear about Lyra?" she asks, smiling. "Isn't that so cool? Definately proud of the girl."
Raphael reads quietly but fairly quickly, sneaking a glance at the garou every so often; not enough to stare, certainly, but apparently there's some kind of interest there. Or it could just be that the talking interupts his reading. Hard to be sure, really.
Elan grins at Aiyana. "I did. She needs a party, she does." He glances back over at Raphael a couples times when he notices the gothboy noticing them. He just gives a slight smile, looking back to Aiyana. All in all he seems pretty relaxed and pleasant.
Aiyana looks over at Raphael as well, squinting at the boy for a moment, then turns back to Elan. "Yeah, I mentioned somethin' about throwin' her a party a little bit ago, but I'm not really sure how to go about it. Not like I'm much of a cook in the first place..." she admits. "But I figure get some family and friends together, have a nice little gatherin' for her and whatnot."
Ebony heads back up from the ground floor, shaking his head bemusedly.
Ebony returns to the chair he was in before, absently commenting towards Aiyana in passing, "I think he broke his mask."
Aiyana glances up from her seat next to Elan. "Broke his mask? What, did he actually smile or somethin'?"
Raphael makes a note of the page number, and closes the book, rising and disappearing deep into the stacks on the rare book side of the room.
Elan looks up at Ebony's statement, expression neutral. "Yeah. What do you mean?"
Ebony mmhmms softly. "Proper smile, like. Not fake," the kinsman responds. "Almost made me wish I had a camera handy, t'show th' rest of th' guys."
"And it didn't kill him? That's amazin'," Aiyana replies. "What got him to smile, anyhow?"
Elan looks for the answer.
Ebony grins a bit. "Jus' some stuff he asked me t'look up. Well, all th' family, really. Don't think he expected results, but I managed t'find what he was lookin' for."
Aiyana nods. "Still, that's pretty amazin'. Best I get from him is a cold glare, or, if I'm lucky, somethin' muttered in my direction."
Elan snorts, then smiles. "Better than what I get, but then the feeling is mutual."
Ebony shrugs loosely. "I don't think he's as bad as he acts," the kinsman states simply. "He's just grumpy, I guess."
Aiyana glances over to Elan and grins, then manages a quiet snicker at Ebony. "You're not Gnawer, now are ya? He seems to have some kinda grudge against us, from what I've seen."
Ebony grins wanly. "No, but I socialise with you lot," he replies dryly. "Maybe that's enough. An', like 'nee said, I do more fer you guys than I do fer' my own, most 'a the time."
Aiyana smirks, "That's 'cause we're so much cooler, man. We're not all uptight like Salem and some of the others." She slumps down into the chair and makes herself comfy.
"Even if Renee does protest about me using a 'spider box'," the roachkin comments softly. "Ahh well. Each to our own, I suppose."
Aiyana shrugs a little. "I ain't got nothin' against computers and stuff like that, even if I won't touch 'em. You guys do your things differently than we do, but as long as it works, hey. It's all good."
Ebony grins amusedly at the cub. "Jer an' I both think you'd kick ass at Untreal Tournament," he comments with a chuckle. "Good reflexes an' all."
Aiyana oys, "Knowin' my luck it'd piss me off, I'd shift, and break a bunch of stuff. Do you really want me wiggin' out on your equipment?"
Ebony laughs at that. "True," he agrees. "Maybe a bad idea then. Though, I woulden't mind so much if it were Jer's computer."
Elan smiles a bit sadly. "Haven't played on a console in years. Had a Walker buddy let us use his stuff, now and then."
Aiyana laughs, shaking her head a couple times. "Somehow I think that he might mind, bro." The cub smiles at Elan, "Hey. Why not get Ebony or Jeremy to let you come over and play games? I'm sure they'd enjoy another male to join 'em in their computer slaughterfests."
Ebony makes a face. "/Console/?" he prompts. "Eugh. Sorry peoples, I'm a PC-only guy. Consoles...bleh."
Elan snorts. "Consoles don't stop working if you sneeze on them hard."
Aiyana starts laughing at Elan's comment, sitting back as she listens to the friendly banter being tossed back and forth.
Ebony grins a bit. "Neither do computers, if you treat 'em right," he retorts dryly. "Most of the time, a computer goes bugnuts 'cuz of a user error, rather 'n one they've made themselves. Like a girl, y'know? Gotta treat 'em gentle."
Elan says "Well, I can agree with that."
Aiyana just smirks as she pushes herself out of the chair, brushing off her clothes as she nods to the two guys. "I'm gonna go try to hunt down somethin' for lunch. See you 'round, Elan, and I'll probably see you later at the apartment, Ebony." Waving, the cub turns and starts to head for the staircase, humming quietly to herself.
Ebony flicks the cub a wry salute, shaking his head in amusement. "Laters, 'yana."
Elan waves to Aiyana, then turns his attention back to Ebony. "I'd like to see your set-up, though. I keep reading about some of the cool stuff out, now.. but all I know how to use is a console, not a keyboard."
Ebony smirks a little. "I've got th' car outside, if y'wanna come back an' see it now," he offers openly. "Though admittedly, most'a th' stuff there 'part from my PC is Jer's."
*** Inactivity Timeout ***
You paged the room with 'Oops.'.
Ebony pages to the room: Oops? *staple* Stay!
You paged the room with '...are you guys still playing?'.
Ebony pages to the room: Elan's 'boss-idle' at the moment.
You paged the room with 'Ahhhhh.'.
From afar, to the room, Elan is free of the evil boss!
Elan says "So you guys share the apartment?"
Ebony nods. "S'right," he agrees. "Bin' living with Jer since a couple'a weeks after I moved to th' city," the roachkin adds. "Knew him over the 'net."
Raphael finally emerges from the stacks again, this time bearing a rather smaller and newer looking book as he heads back to reclaim his chair, curling deep into the corner of it again. His coat spreads out over the cushions like a blanket.
Elan suddenly seems to zone off a little, looking out past the bookcases into empty space and nodding just a bit every now and again.
Ebony mmms, shaking his head ruefully. Garou. Raphael recaptures his attention once he's emerged, though, the kinsman offering up curiously, "More ghosts?"
Raphael quirks a faint half-smile, and tips the book up so Ebony can examine the cover. "Kind of," he replies; it's apparently a book on Marilyn Monroe.
Ebony's brows arch, the subject matter rather unexpected. "A fan, are we?" he muses, shaking his head ruefully and reclaiming his own book.
Elan looks over. "She ain't dead, dude. She's in hiding in a Mob hangout outside of LA, 'cause she had JFK's son and they are protecting her and him from the government assassins."
"Well, =I= am," Raphael returns, opening the book and beginning to skim the introduction and table of contents, "I'm not so sure about you." Apparently, he decides to start on a chapter other than 'one' judging by how far forward he turns in the book. Elan's claim gets his attention, though. "Seen her there, have you?"
Ebony listens to the other human's claim, a slight smile curving his lips before he opens his book. He doesn't comment either way, instead keeping an ear perked to the discussion between goth and gnawer.
Elan nods, perfectly serious. "Yep," he says, then sits upright in his chair before standing. "Hey, gotta go. Ebony, need to talk to you tonight, k?"
Ebony glances up and nods. "Yeah, laters bro'," he replies vaguely.
Raphael tilts his head a little, watching Elan. "...Mmm," he replies, and goes back to reading as the Gnawer heads out. All's silent for several minutes before he speaks -- presumably to Ebony, though he doesn't look up from the book to do it. "That man you went downstairs with, earlier. Who is he?"
Ebony opens his book where he left off, though glances up and over to the other reader cautiously. "His name is Mr Salem," the roachkin ventures. "Why do you ask?"
Raphael shrugs, turning the page. "He looked... intriguing," he replies thoughtfully. "Mr. Salem. Thank you." He shifts slightly, not sitting quite so much on his legs now.
Ebony offers, by way of a friendly warning, "I wouldn't approach him out 'f the blue. He likes strangers e'en less than he likes the people he knows." His tone is humourous, though there's some note of seriousness in there as well.
"That's all right. I don't like people very much either," Raphael replies, which may or may not mean he's accepting the warning. "Thank you."
Ebony snorts, shaking his head amusedly, leaving it at that. His book becomes interesting once more, though only briefly, before he voices, "So what is it about Marilyn Monroe, anyhow?"
"I like a number of actors from the era," Raphael replies, and then glances up, "but I think the fascination people have with her centers on her beauty, her style, and the fact that she really was rather tragic. Even before her death. And dying young at the height of one's fame tends to support one's legend."
Ebony smiles crookedly. "I hear stories of how she was a cow to work with," he comments. "Biographies of other actors, like Gable, usually have comments from people who've worked with both of them like in 'The Misfits'."
There's a soft noise that might be a little laugh. "Yes," Raphael agrees, "I've read that. Very few of them seem to have gotten along. Too many egos in one place, I suppose. But you should hear some of the quotes that have survived. Bitchy, but amusing."
Ebony cants his head to the side slightly. "Oh?" he prompts, curious despite himself. "Like which?"
Raphael closes the book on his finger, and tilts his head, glancing upward as he thinks. "George Raft said Mae West stole everything but the cameras... Mickey Rooney said, 'I can't honestly say that Esther Williams ever acted in an Andy Hardy picture, but she swam in one.' Mm -- oh, Joan Collins on Norma Shearer, 'I love to play bitches, and she certainly helped me in the part.' My favourite comment was Margot Asquith, telling Jean Harlow how to pronounce her name -- 'The t is silent. As in Harlow.'" A quick, fleeting grin.
Ebony blinks a few times, then chuckles, bemused by the other guy's comments. "Me-yow," he remarks. "Gettin' the claws out there. Ahh well. Figures if they're worth all th' shit they're gettin' paid, they could 'least maybe pay for lessons in courtesy."
"Mmm. Yes, but it wouldn't be quite as amusing, then..." Another shift, and Raphael flips forward a chapter or so in the book. "...and what are you reading?"
Ebony lifts and turns his book so he can read off the title and author, smiling somewhat sheepishly as he does so. "A Treatise on the Game of Chess, by D. Pietro Carrera." Returning the book to his lap, he adds, "An experiment in reading actual books, for once, on a subject I enjoy."
Raphael arches a brow. "Ah, I see. ...are you any good?" he inquires.
Ebony smiles wanly. "I can beat a hard computer player, certainly. Been a while since I faced a flesh-and-blood one, though. Jer doesn't play, nor do any 'f my workmates."
Raphael quirks the tiny half-smile again. "I'm terrible," he remarks idly. "Suppose that means I can't really help. Sorry." He scans another page, and then unfolds from the chair, snapping the book shut as he rises.
Ebony comments dryly, "It's a game everyone should learn. Teaches more about patience than it does strategy."
Raphael smiles very faintly and heads back into the stacks, presumably to replace the book. "It's all right then, I s'pose. I'm good at patience already..." He emerges much more quickly this time, and empty handed. "I expect I shall see you around..."
"If you're lucky," Ebony replies with a chuckle. "Laters," he adds, lifting a hand in casual salute.