Free at Last|(Open, casual)INACTIVE

[eastsidesunset]

I still remembered the first time I was introduced to the quiet magnificence of the library. Being the shy yet wildly imaginative kid I was, a place with row upon row of nothing but stories to sink my teeth into-- and for free, imagine that!-- had felt like nothing short of a miracle.

And I remember, too, how reluctant I'd been to go at first. The bad rap libraries got from every person I knew except Darry and Mom had almost made me believe that libraries were worse than dentist appointments. But Mom had loved them. And I'd trusted her beyond anyone in the world back then, though Soda was starting to be a close match.

So I'd taken her hand, and went. I'd been five, then, almost six. The library had been my haven for more than eight years now. My escape from reality, from the world that judged people only by the clothes they wore and the place they lived.

Pretty melodramatic, I know. But it was the truth.

I reached up a high bookshelf in the fiction section, pulling out an interesting-looking novel with a thick, textured green cover. After checking that out along with five others, I found my favourite beanbag and sat down.

I opened to the first page of one of the stories, smiling slightly at the familiar musky scent that only old books had. How not everyone could enjoy reading a good story, I had no idea.

(OOC: ...I sure hope I did this right. If you think third person would work better, tell me. 'Cause I'm just making it up as I go along... Oh, and feel free to join in. Maybe interrupt him for some reason?)

(We've given you permission - Harry wrote in his comment on your application that it's fine if you want to write in first person. Go on.)

[bunny]

[ooc: RPing is done in third person according to the rules. Thanks for checking, though.]

It was another typical day for Berenice. Well, mostly typical. Her job was rarely boring, but business had been a bit slow lately. It hadn't been too terrible, especially because the advertising business seemed recession-proof. The problem came when business people opted for computer animation instead of the traditional pen-and-ink brand that Bunny specialized in. Of course, Bunny only did consulting for television slots, and other artists took care of the actual illustration. Bunny was more responsible for stationary pieces. She had done a few labels, a generic kids' cereal brand, and had even managed a billboard for one particularly important client who had requested her specifically. That had been Bunny's finest moment. She'd invited up her family to come see it. That time had been the happiest point in Bunny's life since before she'd died ... and then come back to life. While the past few years since that incident hadn't been all misery, they weren't quite as sunny as they'd been before she found out her fiance was a psycho. For example, taking him to trial for assault and battery and placing a restraining order on him had not been fun.

Bunny had begun trying new things, despite the fact that it was contrary to her personality. Outside of art, Bunny was very reluctant to step outside of her comfort zone. She had led a very sheltered life as a child, though nobody was to blame for that. It had been her epilepsy that had kept her inside and instilled in her a very cautious nature. She knew that her parents would have loved to take her out more and get her exposed to all sort of things, but it just had not been an option. Bunny didn't blame them for that any more than she blamed herself. She was a grown woman now and beyond such petty grudges. Still, it had gotten her into this cycle of caution that she'd never really broken. They biggest step had taken in her life was moving to New York, but she'd done that for many reasons. The biggest reason was that it placed several hundred miles between her and her ex-fiance. Trying something new had been third to that and a desire to become more independent now that her epilepsy was more manageable.

This newest thing she was trying involved a talent she had developed out of a desire not to show her teeth too much when she was talking. She was a bit paranoid about anyone looking too closely at her mouth and realizing that she wore dentures. This carefulness had led, unexpectedly, to an ability to speak without moving her lips. It still needed refining, of course, since she hadn't done it intentionally, but it wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. That was why she'd come to the library. She wanted information and instructional booklets on ventriloquism. Her coworkers had stumbled upon her practicing and told her that she absolutely had to go to the variety hour at their bar of choice. Bunny had hemmed and hawed about it for a while before deciding that she was going to go for it.

Upon arriving at the library, Bunny looked up on the library's website, which she had programmed into her phone, a few references for ventriloquism. She started with the first one. Admittedly, it had been far too long since she had been in a library. She had read boatloads of books as a sickly girl. They had been her release. However, she'd never been intimately acquainted with the Dewey decimal system in the first place. When she found herself in the children's books, she was sufficiently befuddled. It was frustrating, to say the least. She backtracked a ways, peering at her phone and trying to decode the numbers without scratching her blonde head dramatically. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a young boy. He was sitting, reading, but he seemed like the kind of fellow who would know his way around a library. She hated to interrupt him, but there were no librarians around. "Excuse me," she whispered upon approaching him. "I'm really very sorry to bother you, but do these numbers make any sense to you?" she asked, holding out her phone so that he could see what she was referring to. It was really embarrassing to have to ask someone nearly half her age for help, but she really had no other option.

[/blockquote]

[eastsidesunset]

I was flipping a page, absolutely captured by the story of tunnels and pale-white humans who lived their whole lives underneath the earth, when I heard the quiet voice of someone outside of the fictional world. "Excuse me, I'm really very sorry to bother you, but do these numbers make any sense to you?" the voice said, sounding slightly distant for some reason.

I looked up, and saw a small woman holding out her phone at me, the screen displaying a simple library call number. It would be lying to say I wasn't irritated at being interrupted for something so small. Did I look like a librarian to her or something? I mean, the "Help" counter was right there, packed with people who would assist her with a smile in a second. Much more friendly than I ever could be.

But I sighed, putting down the book reluctantly, and replied, "Yeah, it's call number." I looked more closely at it, and stood up, packing my books in my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. The section she wanted wasn't the closest, and I wasn't in the mood to search for lost library books today.

"The book you're looking for is right over there." I half-muttered, pointing towards the vague direction of the nonfiction section and not meeting her eyes. I wasn't used to showing people around-- People usually picked their "guides" based on one of three things, appearance, skill, or age. I had none of the above, so I wasn't disturbed too much, not even in the library.

"I'll show you if you want. You new here or somethin'?" I asked quietly, standing up and heading towards the D section of "Nonfiction and Reference". That was a place I only went for school projects, but I was familiar with it nonetheless. "What was that number again?"