|Location||Wee Book Inn - Greenwich Village|
|Summary||Tol help smol, smol help tol; Ian happily gives Huruma some advice on where to find the best green.|
| Few bookstores linger in this digital day and age, but Wee Books has fought hard to retain its scrap of real estate, and as a result, it's one of the most visited shops in the Village.
The place is a warren of shelves, a labyrinth of closely-stacked book piles. It's easy to get lost inside the shop, which has expanded with a twist of staircases and side doors to encompass two stories and several additional storefronts. The books here are new and used alike, and though sorted by genre, a good browsing is generally required to find anything in particular. Wee Books caters to just about every crowd it can; it carries a wide variety of fiction, both historical and new, as well as non fiction ranging from philosophy to hobbyists guides to cookbooks. A small, locked-off section is even devoted to rare, antique books.
Nearly every free nook or cranny holds some sort of furniture designed for reading. Here it's a cushy wingchair, there it's an aging library carrel or an overstuffed bean bag. The place is large and twisty enough that it feels possible to remain lost and undisturbed for several hours, if you choose the right spot.The presence of a small cafe near the entrance only adds to the homey atmosphere. The place smells like old books and fresh coffee, with the underlying sweetness of fresh muffins or cinnamon rolls to tie it all together. And if you're very lucky, you may gain the favor of the Inn's resident rumpled tabbycat, Milo.
Few bookstores linger in the digital age but the Wee Book Inn is one of the few. There are books on books on books with tall shelves reaching upward towards the ceiling in the used section which has Ian in its hold this day. One shelf which is a mix of poetry, dog-eared and tea stained in parts, both new and old, and fiction has captured his attention but remains just out of reach. Leaving the sneaker and jean wearing ginger perched on the bottom edge of the shelf, on his tip-toes, and his opposite arm full of books, stretching out as far as he can to reach a certain copy of Koch.
It's almost as if the struggle itself has summoned someone else here; there's a good chance that's actually the case. Huruma can also pick out Ian's idle emotions when she ventures into the bookstore, and curiosity has her nosing around to find the source. When she leans her shoulders around a narrow aisle, there is one thing to realize-- the time has come. High shelves? Easy as pie. Before Huruma slips into the aisle she makes mental notes on the state of Ian Eller-- the pile of books in his arm, the rather determined desperation that pushes his reaching.
"They have stools, you know." Huruma's purring voice precedes her arm reaching up and over Ian's head as she breezes close, setting a finger upon the spine of the book he's trying for. "This one?" Her clothing is relatively casual, for all that Ian's seen of her; a low cut black shirt, low-waisted slacks, low-heeled shoes, burgundy lips and hoop earrings. Subdued.
"Eh?" Ian wobbles tellingly backwards as he tips his head back to look at Huruma, her shadow cutting across his features as she sets a finger on the spine of the book. He drops backward ontop the ground like a disturbed cat, green eyes wide as they flicker from her to the book. "Ah. Yes. Thanks!" He answers with a grin, shifting the stack of books in his arm. His outfit cuts a less impressive figure with a brilliantly azure blue 'Club Med' t-shirt (complete with the medical seal) under a grey hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. "I never remember about stools when I'm on the hunt."
"Luckily--" Huruma slides the book into her palm, scanning it with her eyes before handing it to him. A quick study is made of his manner, widened eyes and grin included. "--I never have a need to stop and look." This is what tall people are best for, clearly. She gives a smile, fleeting and personal. "Standing on shelves is an easy way to knock them over."
The volume is jacketed in gray and a little dusty with slightly eyebrow raising title of, 'Kollected Koch.' Publishers. "We can't all aspire to your altitude," Ian answers with an easy grin, accepting the book and flipping it open with the rest of his horde tucked beneath his arm. He flips it open eagerly, checking the index for a specific entry. "Awesome." Glancing at the shelf, he shakes his head at Huruma. "I am reasonably certain that the net weight of unread poetry on that shelf easily outdoes my own, but you're probably right."
"Trust me, it is all about the leverage on the ankles." Huruma laughs softly, tapping the bottom of the shelf with her toe. "Gravity is terrible." She looks over the collected bundle of volumes balanced in his grip. "You read a lot of obscure poetry, then?" While she has this idle question, there is a moment of time where her expression flattens a little and she entertains a more serious look behind her eyes. "I do not believe I have seen you since the- ah- incident. How is your leg?"
"I'll remember that next time I go through a growth spurt." Ian brushes a little book dust off the cover before shifting his small stack in his arms. "Genetics are worse. I did not pull the tall card in my family, it went to someone else," he admits, unbothered by his normal, moderate height. "To some respect - all poetry is pretty obscure. It's certainly not blowing up the data feeds with a new release." Cool, it is not. Ian's features tighten notably, a brief but subtle pulse of fear stinging the air for a moment before dissolving into a cloud of embarassment, stubborness, and rueful determination. "You can say shooting," he offers, smile soft and small. "It's mostly better. How are you?"
There is a new, thin smile for his remarks on being the shorter one, and she calms it as she continues, watching his face. "It was considerably more than a shooting. But, it is in the past now." Huruma waves one hand dismissively. "That is good to hear. I remember my first bullet. I am well enough. Sick of your northeastern winter, however."
"Yeah. They are thankfully all locked up now. I saw about that on the news," Ian says thankfully, ducking his head a little awkwardly. It was all good news to him. His eyes widen a little at her admittance, expression pulling rueful as he says, "First bullet?" That indicates more. "I'm sorry to hear that. We've got a bit more to get through yet before spring comes around, but spring is beautiful here."
"It was in a similar place." Huruma casually gestures down along her thigh somewhere. "The scar is long gone, but I remember." Her mouth thins into a mimic of his rueful look. "I have heard as much. I am also looking forward to the warmer seasons because I have heard your upstate parks can be quite lovely."
The raking track of Ian's gaze down her figure has a medical air of detachment, rather than of lasciviousness, as it settles on her covered leg for a moment. His intensity eases with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't think you could forget that." There is nothing like it. "They're gorgeous. The city parks too. There's a lot to get up to if you enjoy the outdoors."
Huruma rests one hand idly along the nearest shelf, fingers nudging some dust from the surface. "I expect the city parks to be as charming as they are in the movies. Hopefully I am not disappointed." Surely not! "I do love the outdoors. It is my second home, though I am much more used to jungle and grassland climates, than temperate mountains."
"They're pretty high on charm. That's probably why they keep using them in movies. Although, careful they don't sweet talk you too much," Ian admits, shifting the books in his arms gently. "You'll lose a whole day." His tone indicates that it is a pleasant kind of lost. "You won't find too much jungle around here beyond the urban lines of it. Taconic State Park is gorgeous though. Waterfalls and all."
Though Huruma gains a wistful glimmer when he says one can lose whole days, she is conscious enough to offer her hands out in a gesture of assistance when she sees him shifting the books around in his arms. Don't drop them all, you little nerd. "Your words are only making me more impatient." Huruma lets out an exaggerated sigh, dramatic more than anything.
Grinning at her offer, Ian shakes his head and resettles them in his arms. He's got it. Thanks! "You can't rush the seasons, I'm afraid," he offers a bit sadly. "I'll be glad to be free of the slush and the sleet."
"I need more green. I am not nearly this used to colorless gray." Huruma draws her hands back to her when he insists he has hold of his books, slipping them down into the seams of her pockets, elbows held loose at her sides. "Perhaps I will take some days for camping in the spring, then."
Ian murmurs a note of sympathetic solidarity for the lack of green. "There's a bit of a solution for that. Have you been to the Botanical Garden? It's out in the Bronx, but the green house is pretty cool."
In the meantime, Huruma finds some green solace in Ian's own eyes, meeting them while he talks about the gardens. She gives him a short grin, a show of white against her lips. "I have not heard of it. I will make a note. It may be just what I need to stave off my winter suffering."
Although not blinding, Ian's shades of green and red are colourful against the gray and blues of his clothes. Huruma's grin is returned with a brilliant one that brings out lines at the corners of his eyes. "It's worth the journey for the seasonally deprived." It is a bit of a trek. "I've got to get headed out, but let me know what you think if you're ever free. I'll see you around, Huruma."
Huruma tips her chin and watches his features, her senses open to what fuels his return of positivity. "I will definitely make the journey. You've promised me life in winter, how could I resist?" She drawls, a laugh tuning the last words with a slight purr of sound. "Good afternoon, Ian."Earlier notes of fear are cowered by determination, appreciation, and a simple flare of warmth: kindness and empathy mixed with candor. "Oh. There's always life in the winter. You just need to remember that the snow only goes so deep," Ian offers, smile lingering as he gestures towards the ground. A final grin is flashed her way before he disappears around the corner of the bookshelf into the warrn.