2025-01-01 - Meeting in Monotones

The Winding Vine on Crescent Island is a cozy place for employees of Spellbound to enjoy coffees and other refreshments (first floor), new books, (second floor), and a treasure trove of used books (on the third floor). Amongst the shelves there are some chairs where one can enjoy a book and rest a moment.

Lavender can be found there, but not in one of the chairs. She is lounging on the floor, her back against one of the shelving units. Her legs, clad in black leggings, are bent with a book resting on her lap, while another pile of books sits beside her. There are a pair of black Converse All-Stars on her feet and she wears a grey t-shirt that appears to be well-worn beneath a darker grey knit cardigan that is far too big for her, but sure looks comfortable. The light up here is a bit dim and one might completely miss the petite dark-clad woman sitting there if they were not paying much attention to their surroundings.

Callum comes in with an old puffer jacket that has seen better days, the dark blue thing lined with stitches of various colors. A pair of jeans and brown leather cowboy boots complete his ensemble, and he bypasses with some reluctance that first floor to head up and into the books. It's with a small ripped piece of paper with a few scribbles on it that he makes his way through, the quest started.

And that quest? It isn't going well. He's a man obviously foreign to libraries and their means of organization, and it is with those pale blue eyes lifted up to peer at the numbers and signs that state what can be found. That is precisely why he doesn't see Lavender until the very last moment, suddenly taking a far larger step than he had intended to avoid squishing her beneath a boot. "Shit. Sorry miss. Not used to," A beat of a pause as he manages to make it to the other side of her without kicking or pushing, his dry tone near monotone as he concludes, "the bodies on the floor bein' alive."

Lavender isn't one to shout, generally, or to want to invade someone else's peace. She was also rather engrossed in the book she was perusing and didn't realize that the person approaching her was about to step on her, rather than around her. In effort to make herself smaller and less of an obstacle, she draws her knees up closer to her chest, tucking herself almost into a ball, while also uttering, "hey."

Thankfully, the person, Callum, does not step on her but rather over her with a long stride. "I feel more concerned you might be used to multiple bodies on the floor that are probably dead." Her voice, though different in pitch, is just about as dry and monotonous. "No harm, no foul. This particular body is still alive." Dark eyes look up at him from under fringed bangs that are a bit too long and cling to her lashes when she blinks.

Pale blue eyes flicker over Lavender, taking not of her clothing and then the book. His drab reply doesn't exactly give a whole lot of reassurance. "Nah. I never leave my dead bodies on the floor." His thumb brushes over that small piece of paper in his hand, an absent gesture as it is forgotten about for the moment.

"Callum." It's as wordy as introductions get usually for the man, turning about fully to face her. His attention flicks to the sides as well, taking note of the spines of the book, and then that mouth scrunches up just a touch. Nope. Still not the right place. "Suppose if your still alive, can't add you to my collection then."

"Probably better that way," Lavender answers, resting a palm on the page of her book as her legs return to their original position. She keeps her eyes on him, meeting his gaze. "Since it seems you might trip on them. For your own safety, I imagine a cupboard would be better. Or..." She gestures to the shelving unit across from her. "Shelves. Might fit more." There is no hint of a smile or other expression to indicate she might be joking. Every word she speaks is rather matter of fact, her voice carrying almost no inflections.

Lifting her other hand, she gives a one-arced, short wave. "Lavender," she answers similarly. Her eyes flick to the paper in his hand and note the slight change in his expression. "Looking for something?" It is the question that gives the closest hint of inflection, just enough to indicate that it is indeed a question. "Your collection of dead bodies? I would prefer to stay on this side of the mortal realm for a while longer at least."

"Wardrobes. Perfect size for hanging them up in. The tall ones, that is." The dry wit comes right back at her, before he motions with a nod of his head to the shelves. "Too much of a pain gettin' 'em up on the higher ones." It's a touch of disappointment that seems to appear in his voice, that same cutting drabness that she has when she mentions wanting to stay in the mortal coil. "Well. Remember me in your will, then."

His fingers flick over that piece of paper, and here? He finally does show more emotion, but that emotion? Is grumpiness. "Yeah. Fucking things. Can never find what I need. I'm working as an archer over at the River Village. Figure I might as well learn a bit more 'bout the times we are portraying." Research, of course. His thumb and forefinger pinch one very edge of that paper, and it is offered for Lavender to see it, a couple of books and their locations jotted down.

Lavender considers this option for a moment, then nods. "I can see that. You must have large wardrobes, or many of them then. Unless it is a small collection." She looks at the shelves as he mentions storing things up higher being difficult. "You're telling me. I am barely tall enough to ride the rides I operate." Thereby revealing that she is indeed short, though that might have been easy to notice even with the way she was sitting on the floor, but also that she is a ride operator in the park. "Will do. Instead of donating my remains to science, I will donate them to Callum's collection."

"An archer? Sick." When he shows her the note, she takes it one hand, even if he did not intend for her to, and starts to get up, setting her book on the pile near her. "I can try to help." She reads the titles on the paper, squinting. They aren't books she is familiar with. Still, she knows the used books pretty well so paying attention to the locations the books should be in, she goes on the hunt. "Sometimes people don't put them back where they should. Harder to find the used ones sometimes. But, I love the used ones."

"Hey," Comes that tone that lacks inflection, "pseudo-science is science too." All in regards to what she'll do with her parts upon death. Callum science is probably scary not-science. "Just try and die in a way that keeps you intact, if you would." It's that word sick that has his head tilting, trying to parse if she means it in a good way, or an oh-my-god-gross way. Likely, he just can't tell. "What rides do you operate?" No jokes about her height, or being on the kiddie rides. Least dry humor means no potshots!

He starts to walk with her, his longer strides meaning slower, lazier steps. "Never did read much growin' up. Just not a thing we had. All these books," His eyes flicker to the shelves, soaking them all in for a few moments before he murmurs, "A bit intimidating. Shooting arrows? Pole dancing? Much easier." Thumbs stick into his pockets, giving those hands something to hang onto so they don't find other things to do. "Why the used ones?"

"Point taken." As for dying in an in-tact manner, Lavender says, "I will do my best, but no promises." Already searching for the books on his list, she misses that tilt of his head in question to how she meant the word 'sick', but don't fret, dear Callum, she says it often. "All of them," she states. "I am what they call a roamer. I am trained to operate all the rides in the park and go where they most need me."

Leaning over a bit to read the titles on the spines of one of the shelving units indicated, she asks, "where did you grow up? Homeschooled?" She has a hard time imagining a regular school without a lot of books. "I can see how they might be intimidating if you aren't used to them." Her finger goes along as she moves up to the next shelf. "Pole dancing?" She turns her head to look up at him but doesn't stand upright. "Like, sexy times pole dancer or artistic pole dancer?" She is curious, but doesn't sound like she's judging. However, it might be difficult to tell if she was. Though, Callum might have an advantage to reading her more than others, since he seems to be cut from a similar vein. "Shooting arrows sounds cool. Never tried it myself." Pulling a book from the shelf, she holds it out to him. "This one isn't exactly the same title, but so close. Is it one?"

While now and then he looks to the shelves, most of his focus is on the woman in front of him as they go, picking up on the subtle nuances that he is oh so familiar with of himself. "Shouldn't let Them label you." Comes the dry response to her being called a roamer. "What is your favorite to operate?"

Callum's head wobbles a bit when she says homeschooled. "Nah. Not exactly. Might as well have been. Grew up in the tiniest little village in the sticks you can imagine. Wasn't ever exactly the type cut out for school as it was." Probably, though that upbringing surely has plenty to do with that in and of itself. But her questioning? That has one brow arch upwards, his voice flat as he counters, "Why can't sexy times pole dancing be artistic? Some folks get off on art, after all."

He reaches down to take the book she offers, and he first looks at the title. Close, yes. A flip open of the first few pages to the table of contents, the little foreword, and his head dips into a small nod. "Seems like it. Just want to get a sense of the times. Will help me figure out how to act, and maybe give me ideas for my alter-ego self in this whole thing."

Lavender pauses and looks up at Callum, just sort of staring at him for what might be an awkward amount of time at his comment about labeling. Finally, she makes a sound that might be considered a huff of a laugh, but her lips never move. "Good one. Probably the Haunted Estate. Some people get authentically scared the fuck out." Apparently, that gives her a bit of joy, judging from the almost imperceptible curl of one side of her lip. It is brief, gone before many would even notice it.

She didn't grow up in Michigan, if that is where he is from, and wouldn't know the slightest thing about where the sticks might be in the area. She also did not grow up in anything remotely close to being the sticks, so doesn't fully understand what schools might be like in them, but nods and says of his not-exactly-home-schooled-not-cut-out-for-school statement, "cool." But, when his eyebrow hints at possibly being affronted, she shakes her head and says, "it absolutely can. But like, you don't usually see the artistic kind in the strip clubs. A lot of dancing can be sexy to some." Maybe to her. She's not telling. "I was just curious."

She shrugs then waits as he inspects the book, eyes set steadily on him. "Ah, good." She looks at the paper again to see about finding the next one on it. "You could possibly watch movies to help too. What sort of role is it you are researching for? Maybe I can suggest a movie." She walks a few steps to a different shelving unit and starts scanning books. "Do you like your job?"

"Think it's really haunted?" That question comes just as dull as the rest, making it hard to sort out if he is serious or just pulling her leg. Still, a dip of his head comes in understanding, and while it may not cause him the same sort of joy? He gets why it could. It's when she mentions the clubs that the barest of smiles flickers to life at one corner of his mouth. "We need to take you to the right strip clubs, then."

There doesn't seem to be any offense in it all, no affront to be told with that calm expression on his features. "Mostly did the stripping sort. Paid the bills for community college. Drama major. Always told I had a great range of expression." This comes with one of two - nonchalant and grumpy - that she's seen so far. Hardly any range at all!

"We are working on a horse archery competition. I also plan to go around in costume, do a few small skits in the village. Sort of the whole Robin Hood thing. Rob from the rich, keep it for me." That first book is tucked up under his arm, near the armpit so it can be held while keeping those hands free, a few lazy steps forward taken as she starts scanning down the shelves. "Yup. I love archery. The acrobatics. And it pays. More than I can find most anywhere else."

"Probably," Lavender answers without looking up. "I've seen some things that seem slightly weird. But I have heard stories from all over the park. Like, it's not just that ride." Now she stands up straight and looks up at him. There is a good foot of height disparity between them. "If I'm honest, I haven't been to many myself, so yeah. Maybe I haven't been to the right ones. You offering?"

"I had some friends who did it back home. You can make bank for sure. For the record, I don't think they were the artistic sort." Her dark eyes scan over his facial features as he talks about his range of expression, mostly focusing on his eyes. "I can see it." She waves a hand in front of her face in a circle. "It's all right there."

"That sounds sick," she says. "Should definitely check out some Robin Hood based movies. Men in Tights is hilarious." She moves down to another shelf. "I'll have to come watch your show if I'm not working some time. It sounds interesting. You said you do pole dancing in the show too?"

"I've heard folks are having nightmares. Weird shit." Those pale blue eyes just look right back, chin tucked down. He looms over her given that height distance, though he doesn't mean to, making it at least a bit less awkward than if he'd been purposefully drawing note to their height differences. "Yup. I'm a regular John Wayne." That dry retort hits on several layers, given the old Duke typically portraying the exact same character in all his movies.

"And if you are driving, I'll take you to one or two." He seems serious, but then, doesn't he always. His tongue dips out to wet his lower lip, and then he trudges along with, nose scrunching up just a bit. "Movies are probably easier than books. But, shit. I have extra time on my hands now and then, so might as well make use of it."

His right hand lifts, wobbling back and fourth in the international sign for 'sort of' at the question of pole dancing. "No stripping. More like I incorporate elements of what I did on the pole into trick shots with the archery. My acrobatic than artistic, depending on your taste in art."

"Oh yeah. I've had a couple really bad dreams. Turns out I am sick with a katana in dreams though. I need to get myself one for real. Last one didn't seem so bad, but I wasn't fighting so much in it. I was trying to fix a thing. We fixed it." Lavender eyes him and asks, "how long have you been here?" John Wayne. "Was he the 'Feeling Lucky Punk guy? Oh. No. He was the Cowboy guy I think." Apparently that's not her area of expertise.

"Well, I don't have a car. We could take a lyft or something. Then I don't have to worry about being a designated driver. Not sure how many are around close though." There surely are some. Shrugging, she says, "por qué no ambos? Movies and books are both entertaining and educational."

"I wouldn't think you'd be stripping in the arena. Unless we have an after hours show I don't know of. But, what you do sounds sick." He might be catching on how often she says it. "Art comes in many forms. Acrobatics can be as artistic as pole dancing."

"Mmm." Comes his thoughts about her and a katana and getting one in real life. Is he a good influence? "Sounds like a good idea to me." Nope. Not at all. When she says the cowboy guy, Callum's head dips into agreement, his rain momentarily pondering just who is the lucky punk man, but it is all brushed aside after just a moment.

"Smart. Nothing says wise choices like getting drunk at a stripper club." Dry and drab, those words just roll slowly off of the tip of his tongue as they continue through the shelves. "Sounds like I need a few book suggestions. And afraid that the stripping shows are limited to private home audiences by invitation only." Does he? Probably not. Probably.

"I enjoy it." It's hard to imagine him getting -excited- about anything, given the lack of inflection, the slow molases like movement of his body. But there you have it. "You enjoy what you do? Beyond getting to see people scared shitless, that is."

"I thought so. I might have to talk to the sword person on the islands and see what they recommend. But, it was fun swinging it. I was decent with it in my hand in my dream. It seems logical I would be when I am awake too." Lavender also doesn't seem like she would think things are 'fun' or 'excited' about things either, yet here she is, claiming to have had fun.

"Isn't that what people do at strip clubs?" Lavender asks, adding a shrug. "Drink, watch the show, tip good money. And I don't have to get drunk, but I don't like to even be buzzed and drive." Looking him up and down, trying to perhaps get a read on who he is as a person, she asks, "what kind of books do you think you would like?" A hand reaches up to brush her bangs slightly away from her eyelashes with a gentle sweep of her fingers. "I see. Is that by your invitation or the perspective viewer? Do you travel with pole or is it a come to you situation? Asking for a friend."

His return question to her has her having to consider her answer for a moment. Leaning her shoulder against the shelving unit, she finally says, "Depends. I like working here. I like working with the rides. I like seeing people enjoy themselves. Yes, even people that get scared can enjoy that fear. I don't like having to say the same thing over and over all day. So, mostly, I enjoy it."

The reply of the sword comes with dry wit, no real weight of seriousness to it however. "Don't you need to go on some quest, earn it from a master? Seems so... mundane, just getting one made." His hand lifts, all to brush against the bottom of the book that sticks out from where his arm and body have it pinned. "Nah, don't travel with my pole. It makes getting through doors complicated."

It's a brief flicker of amusement, a bare turning of the corner of his mouth as Callum muses, "By invitation of me to someone, of course. You can tell your friend they'll have to be mighty persuasive to get one." But then her true question comes, what kind of books he'd actually like. This has a long pause, a furrowing of his brow, before he concludes, "Humorous or Horror. Or both, if the writer can truly make it work."

Her list of benefits and grievances with her job has a slow nod of understanding, each one ticked off in the mans mind as making sense. "Get that. Can't ever have everything you like, after all. Always something that goes against the grain."

"Maybe. I can't say I am much of a katana expert, or a sword expert in general. Maybe I need to go on some kind of Lord of the Rings type journey or something. I hope I don't have to pull one from a stone like King Arthur. I'm far too wimpy for that." She lifts her fist, tightening it to flex a bicep, even though it is buried under a cardigan and unable to be seen.

"Right. Makes sense. A lot of pivoting to get through hallways and what not too I imagine. Then there's the problem of perhaps accidentally skewering someone. At least then you would have something to add to your collection." She starts to make a gesture with her hands, meeting together with fingers curled as if holding something pole-like in them, then moving the hands apart; one up, one down. It may not at all occur to her that it might potentially look ike something else. "They should invent a telescopic pole. Travel Pole you can just pull out of a bag and set up wherever."

"Ah, see. That's an important detail. I will let them know." She reaches into the pocket of her cardigan and pulls out a Dum-Dum sucker. Politely, she first offers it to him. "Want one? I have a couple."

"Hmm. Humorous Horror. I will have to think on that. I feel like I have read something like this before but I can't remember it at the moment. Horror is an easy genre to find. Granted, not all of it is written well, but on occasion, the bad ones can be amusing." She turns to look at another shelf, apparently forgetting about the as-yet-to-be-found other item(s) on his paper. "Have you read any of these?" she asks, gesturing with ehr toe towards a nearby shelf that seems to have some horror on it.

"If you liked everything about your job, it wouldn't be a job. Or something." Lavender shrugs. "Maybe someday I'll look into some of the other options of what I can do here, but for now..." If he accepted the sucker, she would reach into her pocket for another. If not, she unwraps this one and puts it in her mouth. Either way, she ends up with a tasty treat. "Sometimes it's nice being bored." Presumably, she is talking about the monotonous parts of her job.

Those pale blue eyes watch that show of strength, or rather the lack of strength hidden by a sweater, and his dry response comes without missing a beat, as if this? Can solve all her woes. "Nothing some spinach won't fix." He walks slowly past her, brushing against the woman as he goes, eyes scanning the row of books that she motions towards.

He hardly looks as his hand reaches out to pluck up the offered sucker, beginning to remove the wrapper. "Thanks." Into his mouth it goes, tucked into one cheek where it bulges out, the stick caught between his teeth as he lets saliva mix with dum dum to create pleasant flavor.

"Nope." That is his conclusion to the row of books. Not a single one. But his right hand does reach out, finding one at random, something whose name inspires dread and maybe a touch of humor. As if Douglas Adams had taken up writing horror. It joins the other book nestled beneath his arm pit. Only one. A tasting, without much commitment.

A bob of his head comes with her wise words of liking all of your job would be something. "Not much of a planner myself. Sorta just live in the moment. Enjoy life." For all that one can imagine him doing with that deadpan look cast her way. "I tend to get into trouble when I get bored."

Lavender considers spinach. Her dark eyes look up as if she were watching an invisible thought bubble over her head. Meanwhile, the sucker is in her mouth, her jaw moving as she enjoys the sugary treat. "I like spinach. Not sure I can eat enough of it to help significantly." He brushes against her as he walks past but her only reaction is to track him with her eyes.

"I found one not long ago about some haunted places in Michigan. Apparently there are a lot. Not quite horror or humor, but, if you like that kind of stuff I can lend it to you." She glances at the book he selects. "Let me know how that is?" She turns back to the shelves she was searching before she got distracted, continuing to look. "I mean, that's the way to do it, isn't it?" Live, that is. "My dad used to always tell me I flew by the seat of my pants. Whatever that means. I guess it's what brought me here. A whim." She's leaning over as she looks at the spines again, but turns her head to look back and over at him. "Good trouble?"

"Won't know unless you try. Sometimes the joy is in the mystery." He listens as she explains that particular book, and one can see him weigh it in his mind, back and fourth, before finally his head inclines ever so slightly. "Sure. I can compare it to all the stories I was told as a kid. See if Old Willards House really was haunted."

A soft snort comes when she speaks of whims, and that earns her another look from the man, toes to hair. His head wobbles at her question, a low, rolling note let loose. "Mm. Depends on your perspective. Can't say I ever figured out what the fuck good is. So..." A beat of a pause, before he concludes, "Maybe."

"Joy in spinach?" The question Lavender poses is said so blandly, it barely sounds like a question at all. "I completely understand joy can be found in mysteries, but in spinach?" Her nose slightly wrinkles, expressing her doubt in that being possible.

"Old Willard's House. Was that a place near you?" Doesn't seem it is in the book she mentioned. "I don't know if the places are or not. Some of the stories I hear or read seem more real than others. Either way though, I find them interesting. Like, it almost makes me want to learn more history."

When Callum's eyes scan over her from toes to hair, she mirrors him, looking at him fully as well. The 'mm' he utters makes her lips twitch slightly. "Hmm. Good is something you enjoy doing that does not harm another." One brow lifts at the outer edge just a touch. "Unless the pain is mutually consensual, I suppose." Blink. Shrugging, she says, "I guess I generally just go by the harms none, let it be done guideline." After a brief consideration she says, "I suppose what 'harm' is also kind of depends on perspective."

Callum just lets the thought of joy - in spinach or mystery - rest for the moment, a small shrug of his shoulders offered up. "Sure was. Not sure if it was haunted or not." His free hand delves down and into his pocket, fishing around until he manages to pull out his cell phone. A few taps are given as he murmurs, "Used to be bad trouble then. Now, usually good trouble. Consensual is key after all, don't you think?"

That phone is turned around and held out to Lavender, a new contact ready to be filled out. "When you have the book, you can let me know and I'll pick it up. And I'll let you know," His eyes flicker down to that horror book he picked up, indicating it. "how it is."

"Hmm. I'll have to look it up," Lavender offers to him, watching as he reaches for his phone. "It is the key, yeah." She looks up at his ice blue eyes with hers so dark they seem almost pitch. "Safe words and all."

She takes the offered phone and puts in her information, handing it back to him with the entry under 'Ender'. She didn't think to send herself a text, so instead, hands her own phone to him so he can do the same. "Sounds good. We can have our own little weird, body collecting book club."

One dark brow arches upwards at her mention of safe words, his chin tucking down to peer right back at her, searching for any sign of amusement or mischief on her part. He likely doesn't find anything in those immutable features, and instead takes her phone up to start punching in his contact information. "I have quite the collection. All complete. Legs, antennae, wings. The whole nine yards."

Once done, its flipped back around to her. 'Body Collector' it reads, with his number. His own phone taken back up, he slips it into his pocket, securing it away. "That house was probably just a local tradition. Lots of run down places where I came from. Shitty shacks and farm houses that have seen better days."

"Are you collecting dead faeries?" Lavender asks after he lists the body parts. "I have a book back at home with dead faeries in it." She takes her phone back and sees the name, smirking slightly as she slips her phone away once more.

"Don't discount local tradition. They are word of mouth stories for a reason. Once upon a time that is how history was taught to the next generation. I am under the impression that almost every run down old house I see is haunted." She shrugs. "Adds to the mystery of life." She winks then hands him his paper back. "Sorry I couldn't help find the other. I should get going though. Pleasure meeting you and all that." She moves to where she left her pile of books and bends down to pick them up, cradling them in the crook of her arm.