[ In Progress~ ]
Title: Bibliophile
Characters: Allen forsakenpierrot; Zexion hollowine
Location: Library
Rating: PG-13, maybe? For possibly swearing, k.
Summary: Allen's not so entertained with stacking books. Zexion makes an entrance.
Day/Time: Day 43
"Ah..!"
A gloved hand quickly reached out to catch the book from falling off the wavering stack; the soft black leather slipped against the white material, and for a second it seemed as if it would end up hitting the ground, after all. But then the movement was stopped as quickly as if it'd never come, and a sigh of grateful murmurs was breathed out from between pale cherry lips as the hardbound book was carefully placed back on top.
A sheepish smile in place, the new librarian cast a curious glance around from the corner of his bright, mismatching eyes; seeing no-one in sight as of yet to have been witness to the almost-accident, he let the smile turn a bit more contented rather than embarrassed. Nimble fingers worked quickly to re-adjust their grip as he hoisted the volumes in his hands up to rest for a moment on his knee.
The movement should have been awkward--the stack of books in question was a good foot above his head and appeared to be exceedingly heavy, especially for someone with such a thin frame and seemingly frail as him. But he managed to catch the load in a single practiced shift, even humming a soft, pleasant tune in his fine-tuned voice as he carefully balanced the tomes; the easy grace that defined his form was one part due to various rehearsals from having done the same nearly-daily for the past couple of months, the other part composed of natural refinement. His motions almost seemed to flow together but for the vague jerks when there was the tiniest misstep.
When the books were placed onto the desk, they were placed with a watchful eye anticipating their resting place, regardless of the offhanded reserve that appeared to be evident in how they jumped slightly in the air with muffled thumps of protest and the heavy groaning of wood that accompanied their new acquaintance with the dulled oak. The other, emerald eye was rather unfocused on account of the sting that pervaded any other thoughts and turned the images in front of him into a blurred mess, but that was fine too because Allen could do his work just fine with only one eye functioning at any given time.
After all, he'd had plenty of practice in it.
His hands moved on autopilot, and the white-haired boy wasn't verily surprised to find seven books out of twenty already stacked up beside the pile, plucked from somewhere in what could be indistinctly called the Middle without disturbing anything that wasn't needed, when the sharp pain in the corner of his eye faded after a few teary blinks and he could almost see clearly again. Putting and categorizing books into alphabetical and numerical or however other way they were supposed to go into was an art he'd perfected in the past times he'd worked as a librarian or at an odd job or two which required the same objective, and Allen was painfully, acutely aware of how easy it was to do something without thinking anymore.
He couldn't decide if it was a Good thing or a Bad thing. But at any rate, the work was getting done, and he decided for the moment that it wasn't really important--maybe he'd ponder over it for a while, later, when everything had been cleared up and there wasn't the pressure of a new job lurking right around the corner, even if the threat had lessened after the first hundred or so.
And so Allen let his hands work in their hushed efficiency, and granted his mind the slight reprieve of wandering in a vain attempt to dull the monotony.
Characters: Allen forsakenpierrot; Zexion hollowine
Location: Library
Rating: PG-13, maybe? For possibly swearing, k.
Summary: Allen's not so entertained with stacking books. Zexion makes an entrance.
Day/Time: Day 43
"Ah..!"
A gloved hand quickly reached out to catch the book from falling off the wavering stack; the soft black leather slipped against the white material, and for a second it seemed as if it would end up hitting the ground, after all. But then the movement was stopped as quickly as if it'd never come, and a sigh of grateful murmurs was breathed out from between pale cherry lips as the hardbound book was carefully placed back on top.
A sheepish smile in place, the new librarian cast a curious glance around from the corner of his bright, mismatching eyes; seeing no-one in sight as of yet to have been witness to the almost-accident, he let the smile turn a bit more contented rather than embarrassed. Nimble fingers worked quickly to re-adjust their grip as he hoisted the volumes in his hands up to rest for a moment on his knee.
The movement should have been awkward--the stack of books in question was a good foot above his head and appeared to be exceedingly heavy, especially for someone with such a thin frame and seemingly frail as him. But he managed to catch the load in a single practiced shift, even humming a soft, pleasant tune in his fine-tuned voice as he carefully balanced the tomes; the easy grace that defined his form was one part due to various rehearsals from having done the same nearly-daily for the past couple of months, the other part composed of natural refinement. His motions almost seemed to flow together but for the vague jerks when there was the tiniest misstep.
When the books were placed onto the desk, they were placed with a watchful eye anticipating their resting place, regardless of the offhanded reserve that appeared to be evident in how they jumped slightly in the air with muffled thumps of protest and the heavy groaning of wood that accompanied their new acquaintance with the dulled oak. The other, emerald eye was rather unfocused on account of the sting that pervaded any other thoughts and turned the images in front of him into a blurred mess, but that was fine too because Allen could do his work just fine with only one eye functioning at any given time.
After all, he'd had plenty of practice in it.
His hands moved on autopilot, and the white-haired boy wasn't verily surprised to find seven books out of twenty already stacked up beside the pile, plucked from somewhere in what could be indistinctly called the Middle without disturbing anything that wasn't needed, when the sharp pain in the corner of his eye faded after a few teary blinks and he could almost see clearly again. Putting and categorizing books into alphabetical and numerical or however other way they were supposed to go into was an art he'd perfected in the past times he'd worked as a librarian or at an odd job or two which required the same objective, and Allen was painfully, acutely aware of how easy it was to do something without thinking anymore.
He couldn't decide if it was a Good thing or a Bad thing. But at any rate, the work was getting done, and he decided for the moment that it wasn't really important--maybe he'd ponder over it for a while, later, when everything had been cleared up and there wasn't the pressure of a new job lurking right around the corner, even if the threat had lessened after the first hundred or so.
And so Allen let his hands work in their hushed efficiency, and granted his mind the slight reprieve of wandering in a vain attempt to dull the monotony.