WHO: Harlow Dwyer & OTA WHEN: Wednesday, December 12, mid-afternoon WHERE: Between the Lines bookstore WHAT: a regular day at work RATING: Low (most likely) STATUS: Ongoing/Open
Soft sounds of pages turning and feet shuffling as the few customers milled around kept Harlow smiling as he shelved a series of out of print titles that had come in stock. Between the Lines was a comfortable sort of place to work though it was not what he had anticipated doing with himself upon first leaving his homeland for the mortal realm. He had been a teacher among his own troop, an educator and historian. This world would not need the type of education he was capable of providing. He had limited knowledge of its histories and only a rudimentary understanding of its politics. Books, however, were the same in any realm. There was a familiarity to being surrounded by them that he took heart in, making it easy to go about his day with a light click to his steps that he muffled with glamour for the sake of their human patrons.
Satyrs were still rather an unusual sight in the human world. Harlow had yet to see another of his kind since coming to Tierye. He had chosen to make several adjustments to his appearance to try to better blend though the largest concern he had was covering his wide hooves from view. Shoes would have been an obvious solution, but he couldn't control them when walking much less running and Harlow had never been one for standing still. To date he'd settled for using a soft glamour that made it appear he was wearing a set of sneakers though one couldn't quite recollect the color, style or brand after leaving him.
The morning had gone relatively well for him as he'd been able to get his run in, shower, and dress for work without a hitch. He'd planned on trying to head into town earlier to get a cup of tea from one of the local shops though he hadn't quite managed enough time for that. There was time after work though. He was planning on heading home with a book from the store on an American. Harlow had a fascination with the Americans that came from being young and overly curious. His father had nearly lost his mind because Harlow had spent a great deal of time -risking quite a bit- to visit the mortal realm during the American Revolution to watch their carrying on. He'd never seen war before. Not that kind of war. It had been captivating to him that they would be passionate enough about their beliefs to shed so much blood, lose so many of their brothers. He still had a great deal of respect for people of that kind of conviction. His own kind were a limited breed. Their troops might raid to defend a land they'd settled on for a season or to gather items they'd need to weather out their stay on a plot, but to risk that number of deaths? It was unthinkable.
Harlow was finishing the last of his shelving when the door chimed to indicate someone was coming in; his mind wandered back from long-fought wars to the present day as he tried to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. He hoped it was someone he could help. It was always gratifying to help another find the work they were looking for as he felt as if he were doing the job he'd once done: educating, teaching, and helping spread knowledge along.
"Hello there," he called out, a cheerful smile of welcome on his face, "I'm Harlow . Can I help you find anything this evening?"