Legion

isleret For the last hour and a half, Giles had been seated in one particular corner in the rear of the shop. Situated among stacks of books, at a desk hidden just behind a neat row of shelves, he was tucked away from the outside world. And although he’d failed to disappear completely (it really hadn’t been his goal, considering he was technically sticking around for wandering customers), he had to admit, having the desk lamp on was an awfully cozy way to ‘blow’ whatever ‘cover’ he had left. The shop wasn’t always his idea of a safe-haven, but from time-to-time, it was capable of providing him with an adequate amount of shelter from that which typically unnerved him. Sometimes, the ability to do nothing more than think for hours left him wondering why he paid any attention to his ideas in the first place.

But thoughts weren’t all that plagued him, sometimes it was the sounds—the dull murmur of voices outside the window, the whoosh of air and noise crash-flowing into the shop every time the door was opened… even the pitter-patter of impatient feet scattering across the pavement threw him off when he least expected it. Giles was incredibly finicky and he tried his best to suppress all that he could, but when he felt people watching him—regardless of what he was in the middle of—it simply didn’t matter how well he could control himself. The easiest way out, he had discovered, was to either ask them (being his ‘stalkers’) if he could be of any assistance or to move completely out of their line of vision. Once he got flustered and began to choke on his own words, he saw no use in continuing his attempt at communication. Often, his lack of confidence was what convinced him to give up—trying to act as though he understood was the one thing he could never pull off, and it had humiliated him his entire life. Keeping to himself made it easier to deal with, that was one thing he knew for sure. He’d watched too many people struggle to keep up with great, big flocks of mindless drones to even think of doing it himself.

The unsorted books had been successful in pulling his focus completely from the window at the front of the shop… and while he hadn’t been paying as much attention as he usually would have, it was fair to say that he hadn’t seen anyone pass by in the last forty-five minutes, at least not in the moments he’d lifted his gaze from his work for a quick peek. As far as he was concerned, it was ‘safe’ to relax… if only a little.

sofiac When Sofia officially gave up alcohol four years ago (three years ago if you counted that 'incident' at the New Year's Eve party in 05' -- she didn't btw) she had replaced the obsessive drinking habit with coffee until more recently when she developed a taste for Red Bull. It didn't exactly give her `wings` like the commercials claimed but after consuming what should have been considered an illegal amount of the beverage within the matter of six hours she did feel a little jumpy. The time she spent at the restaurant seemed to pass by in a blur and she had left after passing the proverbial torch on to her younger sister in a incredibly good mood.

It helped matters that her 89' Volkswagen Golf decided to start up without much trouble and the radio station of her preference came in through the speakers clear instead of full of static. Sofia turned it up loud but kept the windows up as she started to sing along with UB40's "Red, Red Wine" to the top of her lungs. At stoplights when it was safe, she pulled her hands from the wheel moved everything from the waist up as if she were dancing. That was until she heard the sirens of some nearby emergency vehicle and immediately froze after checking the rearview mirror just in time to see a cop race by -- no doubt in pursuit of an injustice far more serious than one of dancing in one's car. But she straightened up in her seat, and resumed driving in a manner that wouldn't provoke attention from any authority figures. Specifically cops. Cops made her nervous. The less she ever had to deal with one, the better.

The book store was on the way to her apartment but she would've gone out of her way to stop by even if it hadn't been. Parking across the street, in what she considered to be beautiful evidence of her genius parallel parking skills, Sofia moved briskly to the other side -- unsure if what she had just done could be considered jay walking or not. But once she stepped onto the sidewalk and wasn't arrested on the spot -- it ceased to matter. In passing by the front of the shop, she paused to look inside. It didn't take long for her to find what she had been looking for: him. Lifting her hands, she rapped her knuckles against the glass, boldly craving his attention before taking the required three steps to reach the door and walk inside. This would be the third time she'd stopped by within a month.

Only the first time had been an accident.

isleret He had heard the car quite clearly but, upon shifting his attention from the thinning pile of books to the window, hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. (Well, there’d been a new addition to the vehicles huddled across the street, but as far as he knew, it belonged to someone shopping somewhere around the corner.) So rather than assuming the car was actually her car as well as a method of transportation for unexpected company, Giles continued to scan the pages for signs of prior mistreatment. It was difficult to ignore the sound of knuckles against glass, though, and when one wasn’t expecting it—or when one didn’t want to expect it, in his case—it had the potential to be somewhat alarming.

There may not have been any logical reason to be startled, but that didn’t seem to keep any of the books from falling to the floor. Giles had been in a hurry to stand up and find his way to the front of the shop before… Well, before what? The door wasn’t locked, and he certainly wasn’t paid to play doorman all day. It wasn’t a race to see who got to the front desk first, but it also didn’t help that he had things littering the floor like gigantic pieces of confetti. It was difficult for him to decide to pick everything up before heading towards the front to (more or less) show his face, however, he hadn’t been expecting to find someone he recognised. … Again.

“Good evening,” he studied her shoes curiously for a while, then, “is there something I can help you with?”

sofiac She didn't know what time he worked. She'd talked a lot during her previous ventures into his place of business but the topic of his schedule had never come up in conversation. He could've very well been the manager and was required to put in more face time than anyone else, but there was nothing that stood out about his attire that made this obvious. (Not at all like the restaurant where the employee's wore uniforms that were supposed to be a stupid representation of what people wore in Madrid -- she took great pride in telling people that had not been her idea but that of her fathers and true owner.) Mostly she just considered herself lucky to have come across him all three times.

Though the door would've surely closed behind her on it's own, she didn't let it slam and didn't let it go till it was shut properly. "Hello." The corners of her mouth twitched and a grin threatened to appear at the pleasant greeting exchange. Her dark eyes followed his gaze towards her rust colored loafers curiously and for a second she wondered if she should mention that they were waterproof or ask if he liked them because she hadn't been sure if they looked right when she'd bought them. But then he spoke and she forgot. "Remember me?" Sofia questioned stupidly but didn't wait for a response. "I need another book. I read the other one already." She spoke as carefully as she could, always afraid that her heavily accented words wouldn't be understood. Or worse, that they would be mocked. "I want to read something .. scary. You got anything like that ?"

You sounded a lot like "jew" and that more like "dat" -- but it couldn't be helped.

isleret At first, he’d only nodded, but soon after he was lifting his head up so that he could look into her eyes—or eye, rather, as he found it easier to focus on one at a time (no one ever seemed to notice, or care, for that matter. It helped it to feel less like a task, and more like a normal gesture). “I d—well, there’re all sorts of things here… including the occasional horror story. I suppose it depends more on you,” Giles had been fiddling with a bit of string he’d found on the sleeve of his shirt when he finally thought to bring her over to the shelf where the books could actually be examined, discussed and possibly even found.

“Scary is a somewhat broad category, or at least Stephen King makes it seem that way… I don’t really care that much for any of his work, but there are lots of people who do,” perhaps talking about books was never as difficult as he preferred to believe, then again, he’d spoken with this woman before, and he knew how much she liked to talk. It wasn’t always about books, either. Giles always felt an unpleasant mix of emotions when it came time to present a selection of books to his customers, but the fact that he practically knew each of them (the books, not the people) personally probably gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Maybe one of these,” he carefully offered her a small selection of books, and immediately went off to retrieve one more from another of the shelves. “I don’t know how you feel about short stories… and I know it’s technically science fiction, but it’s… it’s not the science fiction everybody makes fun of.” It was called The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories.

sofiac "I don't really care for his movies either." She followed behind him rather than attempt to move in step. "I didn't like The Shining. I think everybody else did. Jack Nicholson -- yes. The Shining -- definitely not." Sofia dropped her chin in a firm nod for emphasis about her stand on the matter even though he wasn't looking and couldn't see the gesture. "I almost liked Pet Cemetery." He asked her, but she went on. "Almost." She let it drop after that because she had never been able to pin point just exactly what it was about the film that kept her from enjoying it in it's entirety.

Stopping in front of the aforementioned section, she kept a singular eyebrow hovering as she quickly looked over the showing spines. "I like short stories." Probably better than any other kind considering she had never been much of a reader. Movies were what she lived for. This was mostly just for show, though like Pet Cemetery, she wasn't sure why she was making it. She had however, actually finished the books she'd forced him into suggesting the other two times and felt slightly empowered after doing so. As if she could now fully participate in conversations at snotty dinner parties (if she were ever invited to one) where the guests were made up of scholars who considered chit chat about Edgar Allen Poe something akin to foreplay.

A hand idly slipped underneath the spill of her thick dark brown hair and she tugged at her left naked earlobe, wondering when and where her earring had fallen off. She checked the other ear and found the small cheap silver hoop still in place. Lazily, Sofia shot a glance behind her at the floor but didn't see anything. Looking back up when he spoke next her eyes drifted towards the book, speaking the title with a faux sense of recognition. "The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories. Ah --" Biting the corner of her mouth briefly she extended a hand, palm upwards for it. "If you were me, what would you pick to read? What's your favorite book? I want to read your favorite." It was an odd statement to make, but she made it all the same unapologetically.

isleret “See, I’ve never really been able to understand the point in being fascinated with the paranormal. I don’t hold anything against those who are, I just prefer a more… well… a more reasonable explanation for things,” Giles had been nearly surprised to hear that his companion shared similar feelings—or lack thereof—for Stephen King, and would have probably carried on, had he neglected to realise that she’d been speaking of the films. Before he found the chance to get caught up in feeling sorry for himself, Giles—trying desperately to make partial eye-contact—thought it polite to talk a bit about at least one of the movies she’d mentioned. “Oh… Fred Gwynne was in Pet Sematary, wasn’t he?”

There was nothing threatening about the way the woman (he’d wanted to ask her name several times, but had failed in doing so) had approached him—in fact, (from what he could tell) it was quite similar to the way her last two visits had gone—but it didn’t stop him from expecting disaster. Once her questions developed a more personal undertone (at least, in his mind they were personal), he wasn’t sure how to react. His mind was telling him to move, but he knew it was impolite to walk away from someone in the middle of a conversation. “Something Wicked This Way Comes,” he murmured, watching her—not her face—closely.

“By, um, Ray Bradbury.”

sofiac "Oh no." Sofia shook her head vehemently disagreeing with him on the topic of the paranormal. "It's better when there is no reason. Makes it scarier. Everybody likes to be scared, sometimes." Well -- maybe not him, according to the statement he'd just made. "You think too much." Her voice was void of any sincere judgement and she smiled to show she meant no harm, which was generally an extra effort that she didn't bother doing. "Fred Gwynne -- yes." She visibly perked up at the recognition of the film. She was a sucker for movie chit chat. "The one redeeming thing about that movie. I liked him better as Herman Munster though." Again, she spoke as if he cared.

She looked directly at him when he talked. At one point, she even attempted to make direct eye contact without even realizing it by tilting her head to the side. But even she wasn't bold enough to address it out loud. Finding she didn't want to make him uncomfortable or out herself as a weirdo, she looked back at the selection of books and then to the one he'd brought over. "Did you see the movie?" And without waiting for a response. "Did you like it? I saw it .. a long time ago. I can't remember what I thought." Unfortunately, that was of the norm for anything viewed before she went on the straight and narrow so to speak. Any alcoholic will tell you, the bottle does very little for the memory.

"I probably have it, at home somewhere." Sofia added. "I could read the book and then re-watch it. Do you have it here?" That made three questions she'd asked in less than a minute and she finally stopped, knowing she had to if she ever expected some type of response.

isleret Giles was used to being told that he thought too much. Considering he was usually the only one willing to stick around long enough to anticipate his own actions, it was easier to pass judgement [on himself] when he knew he wasn’t [capable of] doing any [more] harm. Besides, it wouldn’t have made sense to try and convince her to think (or say) otherwise—this wasn’t the last 75 pages of a poorly written crime novel. He didn’t have any evidence to support an argument in his defense (and even if he did, it’d just be a waste of time to sputter it all out). All he could do was smile softly and bow his head in a careful—but repetitive—gesture of respect. It was somehow endearing to hear another confirm what he’d been thinking all along… It was almost as if she’d been listening in on his thoughts for the last several months without either of them knowing; and as much discomfort as that might have created, he was able to ignore it for the time being. For once, somebody was openly supporting him.

“I agree, though I must admit that I was much more fond of Al Lew—…Something Wicked? No, I haven’t. I can’t remember the last time I saw a film… I don’t have a television, to be honest.” He paused, nervously picking at the cuff of his sleeve to distract himself from the response he might receive in return. The quick change of subject didn’t bother him as much as the amount of general movie knowledge this woman apparently had. For every two words he spoke, it seemed she was capable of relating a new film he’d never heard of… He was beginning to wonder if this was her idea of a good laugh, or if she honestly enjoyed speaking with him (and he couldn’t make too much sense of that one). “But we have several copies of the book here… in hardcover and paperback.” He was positive she wouldn’t be interested in the various ‘prints’ the store carried, even if she had made [two] purchase[s] only weeks before… Giles just couldn’t picture her being the sort to collect old, out-of-date books.

“Is there anything else you would like?”

sofiac "You don't have a television?" Sofia repeated in a slightly incredulous tone. Forgetting her plan to keep her eyes focused on the books, therefore relieving him of the obvious discomfort in maintaining eye contact with her, she turned her head to look at him with a singular eyebrow hovering slightly. She didn't ask if he were joking. Somehow, she just knew he wasn't. Almost immediately she regretted her reaction and for once, she was speechless. It was the pending finality in the way he asked if there was anything else that made her suddenly feel a bit desperate. The conversation, or whatever this was, had run it's course and could be over in a matter of seconds depending on her response. "Are you the manager?" Instead of answering him directly, she looked over his shoulder as if she'd half suspected to see someone else appear. "I never see anyone else but you. I'm a manager at my family's restaurants. Amalita's." In case he'd heard of it. Just another bit of information for him to store in his "useless information" file. Had there been others in the store she might have felt bad for monopolizing his time but as things were, she felt no guilt.

"Ray Bradbury, you say?" Returning (if only briefly) to their original topic, she started to look out for the name and took a step or two forward moving further down and consequently further away from him. "You should see the movie. If you like the book --- I mean, it is your favorite. You should at least see what it looks like on film. You know, to see how it measures up to the way you always pictured it." Her steps hadn't lead her far enough to prevent maintaining a conversation and so she spoke over her shoulder more or less. "I could lend it to you? I'll look for it when I get home and then I'll bring it back here. Or no--" There was very little time between the moment a thought occurred to her and the moment she started to give birth to it by way of her tongue. "You could come to my house and watch it." Pivoting on the heel of her loafers, she turned in a small semi-circle and she appeared to be leaning her right shoulder into the shelf, she was barely touching it. "I have a very big television. I got it last year with .. the money from my taxes. When you watch TV you feel like, you're in a theater or something." She knew she would have to work hard to sell this idea and so she was stupidly and quite inexplicably committed to giving it her best shot.