Aiden Shepard [ Abraham Van Helsing ] (arcere) wrote in bellumlogs,
Aiden stared at his mass of books. What would she like? A surprise, she said, but he had no idea what she would read. Something interesting, but if it wasn't interesting he probably didn't own it. Taking out the dissertations, scholarly journals, historical texts, and old textbooks of his own, that left about ... half, a little less maybe, of the collection, plus the ones that were still in boxes, plus what he'd left at home after the last time he'd switched apartments. It was a wide variety. He had no idea where to even start.
But a surprise was a surprise. Lips moving in silent words as thoughts made themselves apparent, he stepped closer to the bookshelves, fingers grazing over the titles and worn bindings, plastic and cloth alike, the signs of use and abuse apparent on almost every one. Something strange, bizarre; something fantastical? His fiction collection was relatively small, because nonfiction was far more interesting to him, but there was only so much of a selection before you were back into the actual historical texts. Damn. Where to go from here.
Eventually he locked his fingers over a cloth-and-leather bound novel, a semi-accurate account of the lives of the people from the middle ages, a century that they could all comfortably read about. The reviews had been fairly good, talking about characterization and plot and so on and so forth, but he'd found it lacking in the accuracy department. Still, she might like it, so he turned and offered it to her.
"Here. Keep it as long as you like; I never really read it."