and it's creeping its way through my windows and it's slithering under my door
|
Post by eldritch on Jun 10, 2016 1:06:12 GMT
 professor– um– nevermind, the student had mumbled, shuffling the coffee-stained summary he had given her beneath lecture notes and thereby giving tacit permission for emi to review all her other work while at cafés.
so he sits with the dying heat of an old cup of coffee and a blue marker cap bobbing between his lips. a coffee ring is forming in the corner of an essay plan on heidegger and emi wonders whether he should underline that she’s written hermeneutics twice in a row.
his pen doesn’t leave any mark aside from a welt across the paper when emi tries. the pen’s seen its fair share of days. when he raises it to eye line to see if it’s got any ink. it’s hard to see through the chewed plastic. what can emi say, he’s a man of bad habits.
when emi reaches to pull his bag closer, though, he notices something he hasn’t noticed in a while: another person. the morning rush is long gone. no more yuppies in suits. just moms out for coffee dates who find themselves sitting closer to the windows, toddlers silent around their ankles. this fella hits another category. student-aged. looks like someone he’d have in his seminar later. they don’t always try to sit so close to him in seminars. the fella ain't even that near.
emi spits the marker cap into his hand, dropping it and the used-up pen in his bag, but he doesn’t reach in for another. instead, he flips the ratty messenger bag shut, leans in chin on elbow with his only eye visible trained on the book in the other’s hands.
“hey,” emi says, a slight smile tugging at the side of his lips, “whatcha reading?”
delta (jump-started interaction a bit, hope it's okay!)
|
|
|
|
Jun 10, 2016 15:50:53 GMT
Post by delta on Jun 10, 2016 15:50:53 GMT
 "Nothing fantastic, and I certainly won't recommend it. I'm only ploughing this through obligation because it's rude to start reading a book and not see it through to the end. I suppose it's very much like taking people out on a date. You don't quit halfway because you're bored. You finish it, and not do it a second time."
It was very strange to speak to someone else while reading a book. For one, Iskander had expected the café to be devoid of people attempting to make conversation with him. He flipped to the next page, where the protagonist continued his incessant whinging about how life wasn't going the way he wanted it to.
The protagonist remained useless for the next few pages as Iskander read through the story. Perhaps to some people, it was amusing how things never seemed to go the protagonist's way. To Iskander, it was tiresome to read complaint after complaint in various guises.
Finally having enough for now, Iskander looked up from his book. Against all odds, he looked even younger and paler than he had been when he was reading. His slender and neat clothing (tailored white shirt, navy cardigan) was complemented by the quiet, yet eloquent way he pronounced his words. In a corner of his table stood several empty bottles of soda and one of which was three-quarters full.
He smiled back. "Hello, and good-day."
eldritch
(( no prob o/ I already look forward to this lol ))
|
|
and it's creeping its way through my windows and it's slithering under my door
|
Jun 12, 2016 19:08:28 GMT
Post by eldritch on Jun 12, 2016 19:08:28 GMT
he gets a quaintly impassioned reply and the metaphor finishes off emi’s smile. his hand hovered towards his coffee cup, picking it up, and settled for the lukewarm taste while he listens. papers stick to the bottom of the mug before he swats them down, “so, a meagre one out of five?”
“i don’t think you’ll break the book’s heart if you tell it you ain’t feelin’ it and gotta go,” he settled the mug on the dark wooden table. the essay had experienced enough, “figure you could stand to be a little more impolite.”
silence follows, save for the turn of the page, as the stranger goes back to his book. emi reaches back down to his bag again and there’s a rustle as he looked for a new marker. there’s one in between the pages of a rosamunde pilcher novel. as he’s pulling the cap off with his teeth when he hears a greeting that he can only describe as enunciated. he looks up again.
“well, hello to you too,” emi says, words drawled with a pen top still between his lips. he picks it out, “gotta challenge for you, stranger.”
“desert island,” emi lines under hermeneutics in green. ink cuts through half the word, “if you could bring three books with you while stranded, which ones would you choose?”
“keep in mind, these are the books you’ll be reading for the rest of your life,” he drops the pen against the table and resumes resting his chin on his palm, “don’t tell me you’re one of those fellas who wouldn’t be able to pick.”
delta |
|
|
|
Jun 14, 2016 13:47:15 GMT
Post by delta on Jun 14, 2016 13:47:15 GMT
Iskander's smile merely widened at the man's comment. A one out of five was pegging it a little too low. Being impolite to a book was also unadvised, but he also said nothing about it. The challenge posed was an interesting one -- desert island, three books, himself? It did occur to Iskander to question the reasoning behind the prompt, but there was no harm in humouring a stranger's strange question.
Calmly, he turned to look the man in the eye. Never mind what his choice of books said about himself as a person. His answer danced at the tip of his tongue:
"Hypothetical question, right? First book: Robinson Crusoe. A fitting book for the prompt, easy to read, a classic.
"Second book: this one, right here." He tapped the book that had apparently been too much for him. "It's a solid three-point-five out of five at this point in time. No matter how bad it gets on that island, someone - or something - is worse off than I am. And that's supposed to be something of a relief, right?
"Third book: I'd turn you into a book, and name you Thursday, after what Crusoe did. So, desert island, you can bring three books with you ... we'd have more than just three to read. Not too shabby, don't you think?"
eldritch
|
|
and it's creeping its way through my windows and it's slithering under my door
|
Post by eldritch on Jun 18, 2016 4:27:48 GMT
emi blinks. he answers plainly and with a steady gaze, “no. not hypothetical at all. that’s my superpower.”
there are many ways he would describe the answer but emi decides he likes it. it keeps his smile and while his chin rests on one palm, he absent-mindedly twirls off-white and wavy hair around his index finger. he thinks, “i guess you’re right. could always be worse or it all doesn’t really matter. c’est le vie.”
“y’know, you’re making quite the case for that three-point five. you wouldn’t mind letting me borrow it once you’re done, would you?”
it’s a genuine question as is another blink at the stranger’s third book - or what passes for a third book. and what passes for a blink with one eye. emi almost thinks he doesn’t hear that right but his smile grows a little wider. he’s not flattered but he’s certainly something. there’s a delay before he replies.
“aw, not too shabby at all but i’m tempted to say it’s cheatin’,” emi doesn’t object, though, and he’s still thinking. he does add, “unfortunately you picked the wrong guy – or book — to take to the island.”
“i’m one of the fellas who can’t choose. think you got unlucky there, crusoe,” crusoe works for the stranger. thursday, friday, any day of the week aside, emi’s not calling him master yet.
delta |
|
|
|
Jun 18, 2016 15:47:49 GMT
Post by delta on Jun 18, 2016 15:47:49 GMT
So he's Crusoe now? Fine by him. Iskander laughed slightly in response.
Choosing to turn someone into a book wasn't cheating, if the person was able to turn hypothetical situations into a real one. He'd glanced around himself, and was certain that they were still in a café. Nothing seemed off. If it were an illusion, then count Iskander impressed by how flawless it was. Even the soda still tasted like soda.
"If you can't choose, then I'll choose on your behalf," said Iskander, simply. "You're a book, right? But suppose you had to choose before you got turned into a book, and you can't." He decided to humor this train of thought, simply because it was interesting to. "If you had to pick before getting transported there, I should think that we're safe from being stranded there forever."
His smile widened into a grin. In the same quiet drawl, he said, "Or you can just mull it over while we're trapped on the island, Thursday. It's a deserted island. We won't have much to do, at any rate."
eldritch
|
|
