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c.c.
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Feb 03, 2015 04:42AM
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Soren was leaning against a wall in the bookstore, his arms crossed, his earphones pumping music into his ears—as if the blood that pumped through his veins wasn’t enough to keep him awake. He was overtly watching a dark-haired sixteen-year-old over a comic book he held open with one hand. He was clearly disregarding its existence, but he figured that since he was in a bookstore, he should pick up some kind of book. His eyes wandered to the shelf nearest him. Austen. Ah, romance. He hated those kinds of novels. Brontë. He’d never tried reading her books. In fact, Soren disliked reading in general. Reading required him to be still, and he never wanted to be still. He always wanted to be moving.
His lips kept forming shapes to the lyrics of the song whispering into his ears, but no sound escaped them. He shifted against the wall a bit and turned the page, his eyes barely skimming the black-and-white pages, full of cartoon-like drawing. Bookstores were so dull; he wished that he wouldn’t budge all the time for the dark-haired girl, but it seemed to be a bad habit of his.
“Hey, Ivy,” he stage-whispered — playfully but clearly still a bit irritated — and shut his book closed at the same time. “When are you going to be done?”
Mod
Parcel and Papers (the local bookshop) is both a bore and a favorite place of a young girl by the name of Ivy. She could spend hours here, pouring over every word and page, and just soak in the information like a sponge. A very intelligent and very witty sponge.
A large tome was in her hands, heavy and not in English. The words on the page seemed like gibberish but they were actually in Thai, and seemed like a textbook of some sort, and Ivy read it with ease as though it was her native tongue. She looked up, her bangs skewed across her pale forehead. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Ren," Ivy muttered with a laugh. "Did you know that.. ooh, that 's interesting." Ivy flipped through the book, briefly glancing at the pages.
Ivy hoisted the book up and shoved it back on the shelf, then stood and made her way to her friend. "Okay, let's go." Even though Ivy had barely made a dent in the book, she already processed all the info within it. "Do you maybe want to get some coffee?" She reached to playfully punch him and ended up feeling a shock pass through the two of them. She winced. "Sorry about that."
He shrugged in reply, shutting his comic book closed — it’d been entertaining, in the way that he didn’t need to pay attention to what was happening — and he took out his earphones. Instantly, the sound of pages — both old and new, thick and thin — embraced his ears. He always took them off when Ivy was around because she wasn’t someone he disliked listening to. When she punched him, though, he had to resist the strong urge to sigh. He hated when she touched him — especially like that, like they were friends.
He hated it since he knew that he could dodge — she wasn’t exactly fast — but he didn’t. Because he wanted her to punch him.
He always told himself that every punch would wake him up. Maybe he’d realize… maybe he’d realize, eventually, that Ivy — the girl for whom he had a three-year-long unrequited love — who punched him all the time would only make people think that he was a masochist.
His eyes surreptitiously flitted over to Ivy anyway, despite castigating himself for the past hour in the bookstore to stop staring at her. Knowing that his thoughts probably made him look pissed off, he cleared his head by tipping his cap lower over his forehead, and he held the door open for Ivy, one of his very few gentlemanly gestures. Subtly distancing himself from her, he tried to focus his thoughts on his numb legs, having sat for so long trying to look like he was reading a comic book. Unfortunately for him, it hadn’t been dull watching Ivy. It was never dull. And there his thoughts went, always coming back to this girl, not particularly remarkable — or his type.
“Coffee’s fine,” he answered suddenly, lagging in response. He ignored the shock, and his fingers tingled, wanting to rub away the tension; it was tantalizing, whenever she touched him.
Mod
(( Thank you so much!! >.< And no, no problem~ I actually typed it up in French class ^^'' And there's no rush~ ^^ ))
Mod
Mod
(( Ack, just realized that we should switch threads; I forgot that there was already a coffee shop thread. You want to conclude this thread somehow and continue this over there, with your post as the first one this time? And that's fine~ b^^d ))
Considering that the last time he’d gone to a party, he’d accidentally shattered a glass with his mind when someone punched him out of the blue — Yes, Soren thought, comically glum, I can apparently move things through shadow and destroy things with my mind, too. He simply tucked his cap down lower over his eyes again, as their feet stepped onto the cream-pastel-colored sidewalk, bright only from the unusually sunny day today. Almost simultaneously as his foot made contact with the ground, he became acutely aware of every shadow. They were so dark, so full… so controllable. He felt the urge to experiment with the abilities that have been manifesting themselves without his permission since three years ago. There had never been any explanation, so he’d dismissed it as a trick of the eyes — heck, maybe even a sleight of the hand that he didn’t even know he was doing. It could’ve been a coincidence that the glass had shattered at the same time Soren had whirled around to punch the other guy back. It could’ve been his imagination that he’d turned invisible in his own bedroom while he was listening to melancholy music while thinking about never getting together with Ivy. Granted, he’d blinked after a few minutes for that one; he’d gone back to normal right after. I mean, Soren chastised himself, that I had never turned invisible in the first place.
Right, something else in the back of his head murmured, sounding as if it were holding in a mocking laugh. You’re right.
Finally deciding to answer Ivy, he spoke. “No.” His voice was clear, strong, deep. “No, nothing’s been happening. And besides,” he added casually — teasingly — glancing at her sideways, “you’ve always been an intelligent girl, Ivy. You can even read a book in Thai.” He couldn’t resist speaking to her in a pampering voice like that; it really was impressive, how far Ivy’s intellect took her, but he felt so accustomed to it that it was normal to him. “Anyway, I thought you taught yourself.” He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. It wasn’t as if a person — even a genius — could pluck languages out of the air.
Mod
Neve was never one for books, but if she wanted to settle into this new life- this normal life in a simple town- she had to get used to reading, writing, shopping; things an average girl would do. She placed the front of her foot against the warm edge of the shop’s door and wrapped her gloved hands over its silver handle, using all her weight to push it open.
It smells nice in here, Neve thought to herself, her lips forming into what was somewhat of an intrigued grin. It was a completely new experience for her; the smell of aging words, the warmth of the readers around her, the gentle wave of rustling pages crinkling against each other like lovers in the night. Why didn't she visit here more often?
She basked in the environment around her, playing with the corners of every book case; feeling, touching, living. People had started to stare at how insane she must have appeared- what with a white haired ghost lurking in the crevices of the shop- but she paid them no mind.
The length of her pale fingers traced their way around the labyrinth of shelves until finally it came to a sudden halt, like a piece of thread severely cut in a moment of time. Resting against her gloved hands was a book: Kerouac. She pulled the thing off the wooden shelf and read the title. On the Road by Jack Kerouac. She had no idea what it was about, but it seemed odd to put it back.
Instead, Neve decided to give herself the five finger discount: theft. Smirking, she placed the paperback inside her white coat, laughing at the fact that maybe she really could have two things at the same time: average and normal- or at least, her version of normal.
The normal where taking and leaving was so easy and simple; the average where things like books and shopping and not running from something were customary traditions.
Finally, she could taste something other than ice.
(view spoiler)
One of the good things about bookstores was that there were fewer things that Caragh had to listen to. In crowds and concerts and clubs, she could feel almost everything at the same time — jealousy, anger, sadness, recklessness, carelessness, happiness, impatience, lust. It was so loud. Everything was amplified ten-fold for Caragh Sung, who could feel people’s emotions. It’d been fascinating and intriguing at first. Now, it was downright bothersome and gave her massive headaches.
So, when she stepped into the bookstore, she could at least feel generally a unified ambience. The usual quietness also helped. It was painless.
Until she stepped into the classics section. The truth was, there were always outliers everywhere. If you expected happiness at an amusement park, there were at least ten people in the vicinity who were sad — and Caragh could feel it. Although she was more affected by the happy people, since there were more of them, she could still feel the sadness or the anger. The case didn’t change here. At Parcel & Papers, there was someone who was much more active than the others. Someone excited in a way that made Caragh’s heart beat faster in anticipation and some fear.
And it didn’t even take half a minute for Caragh to find the source.
Messy white hair and strange clothes. And also taller than Caragh. A girl — who was sneaking a book into her coat. Caragh barely resisted banging her head against a bookshelf in frustration at the girl’s stupidity. She may look older than Caragh — she probably is older than you, sensibility whispered to Caragh — but she wasn’t getting off the hook with this.
“One, you’re not getting away with that,” she said, setting her feet straight in the aisle, as if she were preparing herself for actual combat. “Two, you’re going to have to get through me to pull that off successfully.” She jerked her chin at the bulge in the young woman’s coat. “And three, are you an amateur?” She cocked her head, genuinely confused. Didn’t everyone know that there were sensors and cameras in a bookstore? Unless the woman was actually a secret evil mastermind villain who could disable all the cameras and sensors.
It was unfortunate that that wasn’t actually a 100% joke. Caragh herself wasn’t normal at all, so she would be a hypocrite by pretending to be one. She hated that she couldn’t be a normal person anymore. Now, she was telling herself jokes that she was taking seriously. Caragh used to be the type to never take anything seriously. She had actually loved jokes.
Till now.
