(no subject)
=NYC= Wee Book Inn - Greenwich Village - Manhattan
Warm and cozy, this place is well-named. The walls are a simple white and the carpet is an average blue, for most people never give them a second glance. What attracts attention are the shelves upon shelves of books that fill this store, overflowing with literature -- all used but in near-perfect condition, for the Inn has high standards. You want it? They probably have it. They sell harlequin romances, young adult novels, fiction and non-fiction, thick historical books, horror and mystery and erotica, roleplaying guides, children's picture or activity books, and the Harvard Classics and individual collections of all the authors therein. At the back is the reading area, only reached by passing the counter with the owner and his register, ensuring that only those with their own novels or ones that have just been paid for are brought in. The reading areas has several couches, armchairs and lamps, and is where the Inn's resident rumpled tabbycat -- Milo -- spends most of his time, curled up in the lap of whoever will let him sleep on them.
[Exits : [O]ut and [A]partment]
In the lands beyond the register where the reading places lie, a small struggle is under way. A book lies open on the table, but despite presenting its contents to easy reach of the man nearby, no one reads it. The simple expedient is because reading is not possible. A particular cat sits partly across the book, barring at least one page, but that is enough. The man in question sits equally motionless, hands laid one over the other as he stares down the cat in silence.
Parker, in tight-fitting blue jeans, a black leather tank-top, and black combat boots, is browsing half-heartedly, wandering the aisles with a puff of exasperated breath. Blue eyes scan the store from beneath dark lashes, and she cocks her head as they light on Jareth. Interesting. Sauntering strides bring her around the counter -- hands splayed toward the cashier to prove their state of emptiness -- and up beside Jareth's table. She hooks a hip on the edge of the table, one leg swinging free. "You Seth?"
Cat battles hip for Jareth's attention. Cat wins. Mostly. Peripheral attention makes a note of enroaching presence, but gives no further heed until that hip arrives in closer notice. Jareth's eyes slide laterally to make fleeting investigation, then proceed up to in turn investigate the arrival and speaker. The cat, victor of the stare contest, looks smug - in other words, unchanged. Jareth supplies a look of placid befuddlement. "Not last I was aware."
Parker leans forward, displaying cleavage to advantage, to peer down at Jareth's book. Lacking patience, the hand not bracing her against the table reaches out to shove the cat aside. "Are you certain?" she queries, gaze flickering across the title of the book before it shifts to study Jareth's face.
Somewhere between strength of will and sheer confusion lies the motivation to remain focused on the woman's face. Milo scrabbles to his feet with a small and startled yowl of protest, and departs the table to find more hospitable company. The book - Electronic Projects for the Evil Genius - bears remaining cat hair. Jareth, for his part, hoists a slow-raising eyebrow. "I'm... quite sure. Do I look like your friend Seth?"
"I don't know," Parker leans back, crossing her arms under her breasts. "I've never met him. I was just told to meet him here." Light eyes trail down Jareth's body, slow, a suggestive smirk touching the corner of her mouth. "You fit the description, though. Tall. Light brown hair. Light eyes." A finger flickers to indicate each feature in turn.
Comprehension, even partial, lights in Jareth's eyes, and his mouth cracks open, briefly wordless. "Got it." His eyes, still fixed where is decent, only track hers, and an ephemeral twitch of smile curls his mouth. "Going on a blind date or something?"
"Or something," Parker agrees, chin tilting upwards once her examination of Jareth is complete. "Well." Her gaze lifts to trail along the few other people sitting in the room, none of them matching the description. "If you're certain you aren't Seth."
Perplexity continues, slowly, to fade in favor of a degree of curiosity. Jareth angles sideways to prop fist against chin and lean. His study of her in turn is less deliberate, more peripheral, only in that he still holds his gaze firmly on places designated polite. "I'm still pretty sure. Is this when you're supposed to meet him?"
Parker's hand drops to press palm-down against the table top and she leans into it. Her other hand falls to her lap, pressed between thighs. "It is," she replies certainly, despite the notable lack of a watch upon either slender wrist. "You do seem quite certain," she allows. "I suppose I will leave you to your Evil Genius business." A lift of her chin indicates his book.
The chair makes a half-hearted creak of protest as Jareth leans back, fingers twining and hands folding mid-air in front of him. His legs uncoil and extend outward, similarly for a propping of one atop the other. "Evil genius undertakings have no deadline." His attention on her, casual as it may be, bears the subtle examination of a sort that is patient and unhurried. "So, to quote someone else who likes to dress in a lot of black, do you always begin conversation this way?"
Parker leans back on the table, an equal and opposite reaction to Jareth's movements. "Only when I'm looking for someone named Seth." One leg raises to cross over the other, leaving both swinging free over the edge of the table. Blue eyes, a stark contrast to her otherwise dark features, measure his features. "Are you always so uncooperative?"
Thumbs tap against each other slowly, comprising nearly all of Jareth's own movement. The remainder is a fractional tilt of head, adding that fractional much more to his curiosity. "Not by deliberate act. How am I being uncooperative?"
"You stubbornly insist that you are not Seth." Parker uncrosses her legs, freeing a booted foot to push against the leg of his chair, angling it away from her. Once she's pushed it away to the length of her leg, the foot continues to rest on the leg.
The thumbs and other fingers untwine to lift further into the air, upturning in helplessness. "I don't even have a name starting with an S." Jareth watches these proceedings with interest tinted perplexed. Following a long, tracking glance at her foot, he looks up again to question silently.
Parker provides no answers. She is enigmatic. "More's the pity," she decides at length, long lashes dropping over half-lidded eyes. "I suppose, then," she says slowly, drawing out her words as she draws her eyes back up Jareth's lean and outstretched form. "That I should attempt to find the real Seth."
Disappointed he may be for lacking answers, but lack of inquiry perhaps suggests Jareth's resignation. "I'm sure you do have to find him at some point. I'll just have to imagine my own explanations, I suppose." His hands tip upward again. "If you need to pick up the search again, then I'll release you to the winds, or the four corners, or what have you."
Disappointed he may be for lacking answers, but lack of inquiry perhaps suggests Jareth's resignation. "I'm sure you do have to find him at some point. I'll just have to imagine my own explanations, I suppose." His hands tip upward again. "If you need to pick up the search again, then I'll release you to the winds, or the four corners, or what have you."
Parker's leg drops from it's post on Jareth's chair. Both hands seek the table-top and she propells herself forward in a lithe hop to her feet. "Nice meeting you, Seth," is her mocking farewell, a fingertip brushing down the side of his face as she passes beside him and out.