Holden Christopher "Topher" Grant (beastiale) wrote in marchenlogs, @ 2012-02-04 22:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | beast, happy prince |
Who: Topher and Jules
Where: Old Coat
When: Evening, February 4th
What: Books? We got your books!
Old Coat Books was on the smallish side for a bookstore, especially in comparison to the larger brick and mortar stores that were further in the city, but it had something that those stores didn't have; the first was a fucking cool atmosphere. The walls were done up not with quotes of the literary greats or staid murals of said authors in various repose, but rather some Banksy style artwork scattered throughout. Obviously home grown, the sprawling scenes depicting various characters in mixed-up scenarios. Lizzy Bennet was holding Winnie the Pooh's paw as they walked toward a golden pond, and Peter Pan was cruising over London's nitelife not with the Darling children but rather Harry Potter on his broom and Daenarys on her dragon. Other characters and references also dotted the area. Except for one section. In one section, the Children's Area, was a stark black wall. Sort of stark. On closer look, the wall was cloudy. On an even closer look, the cloudiness was explained by one thing and one thing only. Chalk. Remnants of chalk drawings graced the chalkboard wall, a place for children to draw, adults to scribble like a child, and punkass kids to prove how cool they were by drawing the naughty bits of boys and girls. But that was okay, because it made it theirs. All of the little details, weird quirks and idiosyncrasies made the bookstore the community's, which was something that the owner was -- in spite popular belief -- big on.
The other thing that Old Books had on the bigger stores were its employees. These people knew their shit. There weren't a lot of employees, but the ones that were there had been put through literary paces before being hired. What did they read? How often? Name the one book that touched them the most and a brief reason why. The owner, who was also the hiring manager, didn't give a shit about their formal education, didn't give a shit about their background. All the owner cared about was whether they loved books enough to work in his store. Convince him of that, and you were gold. At Old Books, being caught browsing or even reading a bit of the books you were shelving was encouraged. That passion for the written word was what the customer was looking for. The customer was a child, innocent and unknowing. And it was a bookseller's job to guide that customer-child, hook them with the one perfect book that would always have them coming back for more. Like heroin, but cooler.
So, with only those requirements, it was no wonder that the punk-looking guy with the blue mohawk and silver piercings was hired. Actually, it was a wonder. This guy read? This guy knew how to read? Sure didn't act like it. Not with that filthy mouth. But there he was, talking enthusiastically to a poor grandma who looked like she was going to faint. "This book is fucking cool. It'll change the kid's life. Fuck video games. This. This will cure that slackjaw and zombie-fuck look. Swear to god." He pressed the book into the older woman's hands, flashing that charming as hell smile, his labret piercing glinting in the light. But, after only a moment, he plucked a second book off the shelf and offered it as well. "He won't wanna wait for the second one." Gruffish tone was promising, all all-knowing like Oz. He shat you not, lady. She was still dazed, but took the book and began walking away, turning around slowly after a long minute.
"May I talk to your manager, young man?" She was, frankly, unsure whether she was going to reprimand the supervisor for letting their employees talk and look like the crazy bookseller in front of her, or commend said crazy bookseller's knowledge and interest. The employee stooped down toward the floor, picking up the pirate eye-patched rubber duck that someone had left and gave it a squeak. After he did, squeaking it again a little in the woman's general direction, the man grinned. "You're looking at him, ma'am. Topher Grant, owner."
The woman kind of looked like she was going to shit a brick. And that was almost as satisfying as the books that her grandkid was going to get. He loved that. And was still grinning away like the god-damned Cheshire Cat when she paid and left. It wasn't until then that he caught sight of another customer.