she's a dark dizzy merry go 'round, a (tangoaurora) wrote in summerview, @ 2019-03-22 13:33:00 |
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Feng walked into the library cautiously, his stick bouncing against the short step at the entrance and his feet following the movement to climb it safely. He stopped in his steps right there, the first time into a new place always had him very cautious. He usually was helped by movement around him, the faint wake of colors showing him what people avoided and where people walked, giving him a vague outline of the setting. This place was extremely quiet and not exactly buzzing with life and without anyone around, even with his enhanced senses, he didn't have hints. From an outside point of view, as he navigated the entrance, he was in no way different from a human.
His white stick slid onto the floor as he followed it slowly, his hand reaching out mid-air and he stopped shy of an inch from the counter, straightening his stick, his left fingertips sliding on the wooden surface. He stood still, able to perceive light movement and breathing not too far from him, as books were probably being tidily arranged into their shelves from the sound of it. He doubted they had anything of what he was looking for, but he was sick of those novels at home by now and trying couldn't hurt. He knocked twice on the counter, sharp noises that almost echoed in the quiet place and waited, wondering if eventually he’d have to resort to calling out or go find the source of breathing. Being in Summerview was hard on Aurora’s nerves. The feeling of magic thriving beneath her feet, fellow Fae and (worse) Pixies lighting up her senses on the way home in a way that had never happened in New York City. It was going to take a long to adjust to this as her new normal, made worse by the fact that Summerview was clearly built with a mind towards her people — there was a large lack of Iron in the buildings, in the ground, just, everywhere. Unlike what she was used to. Even frequent visits to Atlantic City hadn’t kept her magical senses from gradually sharpening, like breathing in fresh air after being in a cave for, well, 35 ish years. Her own magic had been growing too, muscles stretching from where they had been forcibly cramped for so long. But she wouldn’t let it really stretch. Still walked away with her magic and emotions bundled up tight in her chest, unlike Sid, the bakery owner, or the other Pixies in town. Only using it so far as to glamour her wings, ears and skin tone, bundled up with turtlenecks and gloved hands, grateful that it was winter and no one thought she was too odd for it. But one thing that made the whole move less stressful was, of course, the Library. Aurora was incredibly grateful that they had hired her so easily, being among the stacks was like pulling herself into a familiar oasis. She needed it, the familiar human classics alongside magical history books, tales, anything she could imagine that she had been cut off from for so long, right here, at her reach. It meant she was in a good, though subdued as ever, mood when she responded to the noise on the counter, NY accent thick around her syllables when she greeted the unfamiliar visitor, “Evening!” A bit of relief as well, as she stood from where she had been gathering up the books in the lower return, that he was one of the Surface, mortal born, races. They were altogether less anxiety inducing for her still. Her eyes took in the stick, the refined posture, “Sorry about the wait, how can I help?” As soon as he heard her voice, Feng turned towards it and with one of his easy smiles he greeted her in return, "Good evening.". He walked closer to her, just a couple steps, not too close, not too far, his hand leading his cane to investigate the floor for obstacles with its tic-tic tic-tic noises. There was something peculiar in her, a fickle light, like a firefly barely breathing, flickering in the darkness because it didn't want to give in just yet. "I'm sorry for interrupting your work." He replied, politely, eyes wandering about her. "Would you have any book in Chinese?" His free hand went to scratch the side of his head, his shaved sides not visible today with his black hair parted at the side and brushed, his bangs grazing his left eye. "In particular I'm looking for Three Hundred Tang Poems, a human book. Tangshi." He smiled, the irony of a blind man looking for books was kind of overwhelming, he knew, but in this world of magic he hadn't quite associated himself with in the past centuries, there had to be weirder things. A lot of times in humans libraries he'd wished he could see people's faces as he made his requests and they wondered if he just didn't want Braille. Braille was invented in the 19th century, he had to come up with a way to read way before that. "Any other book in the language would work out as well, though. As long as it isn't a picture book." He joked, his young face melting into an amiable expression. It was early evening, but Aurora had already embraced the fact that the Library was open 24 hours. It gave her opportunities to meet interesting people, even if she preferred to stay inside all night, a residual fear of the dark still controlling too many of her actions. The surprisingly genial vampire at her counter was one of them, apparently. The noise from his cane didn’t bother her, a Librarian she may be, but she was a New Yorker first, and extra noise was almost nostalgic. Her fingers drummed on the counter as she listened, the quiet sound at odd rhythm, the tap from her fingertips, and the thump from her cushioned gloves. Oh, poetry, she loved poetry, “Are you looking for it in a specific format? Or a dialect? I know some grammar variations between Mandarin and Cantonese can cause some oddness in the rhythm of poetry.” As subdued and controlled as her emotions were these days, that didn’t stop her genuine interest from shining through, as well as the ever present want to help that all good Librarians had that she had maintained over the last several decades still. Luckily, she carried that from the human world to this one without many issues so far. The question made him tilt his head and his full lips curled up, clearly pleased that she knew what she was talking about, unlike many other people he'd met before. Sometimes they just panicked when they were asked about foreign books, it wasn't wholly their fault. "The original version in traditional Chinese. Written in vertical lines." He showed the line with a movement of his finger in the air, before he started reciting verses in his language, softly, somehow similar to water bubbling, letting her hear how graceful it sounded, five syllables and rhyming gently. After a short humming noise as he revised the characters mentally, he started translating it, always speaking in a low voice: "Your grasses up north are as blue as jade,/ Our mulberries here curve green-threaded branches;/ And at last you think of returning home,/ Now when my heart is almost broken./ Oh breeze of spring, since I dare not know you,/ Why part the silk curtains by my bed?" He gave the simplest of smiles, not showing even an ounce of embarrassment, despite he hadn't been asked to put up a little show. "It's a really beautiful book, you should read it if you haven't. Though you should also listen to how it sounds in Chinese; the musicality is lost in translation, as it often happens with poetry." To think he was born a slave and now he was here, giving his opinion about poetry and sounding much like an old man, his age for once. "If there's a section with Chinese poetry, could you show me where it is?" He suddenly asked, both hands curled around the handle of his cane as he listened intently to the noise of her fingers tapping, guessing there were some gloves in the way. Was she cold? Injured? Were they more comfortable to handle books? "So I hopefully won't have to bother you this much next time." Perhaps it was partially because he couldn’t see her, but Aurora’s eyes lit up with interest and focus as she listened. Not that it was entirely different than how she was when she listened to anyone else, Aurora is — was a highly sought after storyteller, and a truly good storyteller worth their salt loved hearing those from other people. Even if the way she focused on other people could be a bit, well, unsettling these days, or so she had been told. Although he could see how passive her expression was, so at least he wouldn’t find her creepy. The man had a melodious voice, easy for her sensitive ears to tune into and let a bit of her ever present tension ease, “That was absolutely lovely. I certainly will. I’ve read translated poetry before, but only speaking two languages causes me to miss some nuance that is unique to the genre. Unfortunately.” Aurora really should learn more Human languages, instead of bits and pieces here and there. This man gave a good sales pitch, if all Chinese poetry sounded like that. Without even thinking about it she was grabbing her notepad from under the counter, writing down the name of the book and a bit of what he had recited so she could look that up in particular. When Aurora wanted to read something, she did, having no social life gave her far more time than most. “Of course. We may have it in Audio book form, I will look it up tonight.” Aurora stepped around the counter, not even having to glance at the map, even though their library was surprisingly large for a town this small. “I’ll show you, but I’m here because I love books, and hearing people speak of them. So it’s the opposite of a bother.” There was some amusement tinting her words, as subdued as ever, but still there, as she grabbed one of the land line phones and walking beside him down towards the other end of the library. “Have you ever read any Spanish poetry?” As he heard the distinctive noise of her writing, he quickly added, "That was Li Bai, the poem is called In Spring. His Drinking Alone With The Moon is also splendid, you'll still find it in that book.". When she mentioned audiobooks he hummed in acknowledgement, often forgetting that humans did come up with useful things every now and then. Despite the magic taking deep roots in her, she seemed to be up to date with the human world; it made him wonder if she'd preferred that side for a while, before making her way to a place like Summerview. "I speak a few, but I can read only Chinese, so I lose many things." He offered for comfort. "If I can be of help reading any poem to you, that'd be my pleasure. I don't get many chances to speak my language." The conversation almost made him laugh, for if someone had seen him like that for sure they'd have thought he was planning something. And instead perhaps he just liked the company. He followed her with his cane held firmly in his long fingers, just sticking to her warmth and the sweet scent she gave off. Movement always made it easier; stillness was his weakness. "Then I'll do my best to bother you lots." He joked, catching the amusement that lightly coated her words. "My Spanish is very poor. I can recognize some sounds, but that's quite it. I suppose this means Spanish is the other language you speak and I'm missing beautiful poems, right? Qué lástima!" He shook his head, giving quite an expressive dramatic face, in his best attempt to put her more at ease. If he was lucky maybe he could even hear her smiling. He could be pleasant at times to be around, whether it was just a convoluted act, or not. The titles were quickly added to her list in her practiced, neat handwriting. The written language she had first learned was far from English, but the habits of writing fast but still legible enough for anyone in her family to read was so deeply ingrained it had managed to follow her to English as well. “Drinking Alone With The Moon, hm? It’s nice to see some things transcend time.” It may not have been as direct of a title as it sounded, but even so, the resonance she felt with a (probably) long dead author was appreciated. Aurora didn’t actually drink alone with the moon often, but sitting alone on rooftops, gazing up at it? Too much. “That’s very generous of you. I considered taking classes for it for many years, actually. So I would like to hear more.” Though the man wasn’t offering to teach, just to read, an offer she took as it was presented. Aurora, more than most, knew what it was like to miss home, the need to preserve and share it. Considering learning his language wasn’t a lie either, among others, Columbia had an incredibly large selection of languages, and a truly impressive library to boot. It should, for the price. Any tongue she could hear often in it’s own sprawling neighborhood in New York made her crave understanding as much as one would usually crave food. Her head tilted at him, instinct as much as years of learning how to observe people in the brief space of them introducing themselves solidifying a theory in her mind, “Somehow, I don’t think you’re the sort who needs help very often.” It was a question presented as one he was free to not answer, the conclusion not at all weakened by the stick in his hand, though she did give it consideration when she walked, leading a straight path instead of weaving through any chairs or displays like she might otherwise do on occasion. “Yes. Well. The only other human one.” A glance over her shoulder at him at the exclamation, sounding rather contradicting with the elegant poetry, but in a way that worked. The expression she saw there was enough to have one corner of her lips quirking, “That is a start. You have potential, but yes, you are missing some exquisite poetry. I am no orator here, but I can share some of my favorite translations.” It was almost a lie, to the point where she had felt the tell tale curdle of her magic growing burning barbs under her skin at the intention, curbed at the last moment by the here, addition. Words were tricky things. It felt unbalanced to not offer the same as he had, to read poems for him, but not just yet. It was too close. He chuckled when she mentioned that some things didn't change with time, humming in agreement. "After you've read it, let me know if he caught your feelings too." He didn't add anything when she said she would've liked to hear more, though, for he'd learnt how to write and read after he'd already lost his sight. There had to be a certain precision to characters that he could never have, not he could ever teach, though he supposed he could give it away as calligraphy, with how swirly he could make it look. Feng didn't reply right away at her comment, lips tightening into a smile, his fangs bared. "I'm but a blind vampire." He offered, but there was an amused lilt to it and it sounded quite obvious that she'd hit the spot. She was good at reading people and that was quite exciting, for someone who liked doing the same to the point his own powers developed accordingly to see the qi. He made a little bow since he heard she'd turned around from the sound of her voice and that little amused compliment reached him. But then his attention was caught by the hidden. He could see her internal struggle with overwhelming clarity. As she spoke, her magic surged for a moment, the firefly inside of her taking a deep breath, its light growing in size and intensity. Then darkness came to smother it again, leaving an ambitious ember behind, flickering confidently. Whatever she was trying to bury, it wouldn't behave for long. It was like trying to put out a fire with bare hands: it hurt and proved to be completely useless at the end of the day. The firefly was going to be bright again, very soon. "Thank you for your offer, meimei. Next time I come around to return the Tang poems, I'm expecting a book of Spanish poetry from you then. As I wait for the day you'll be an orator also here." As usual his habit surfaced, calling her 'little sister' easily, a bit cheeky as always, with the way he also gave a hint that he'd caught her slip of the tongue. That she could certainly do. Being able to appreciate different types of stories and poetry had never been a problem for her, nor voicing her opinion on them. Though it came out a little bit different than it used to, it didn’t mean her opinions were weaker. Just. Sometimes quieter. More selective on who heard them. “I will. But that would require you to come visit again.” It was a bit of an invitation, and almost a challenge, but too demure to be either unless one knew how to look at such words rather closely. If that smile, and the fangs, were meant to be creepy, intimidating or anything else of that nature, he would have to try a great deal harder. The ability to switch between the two though did catch her eye, “Oh? Is that all?” A raised eyebrow accompanied the faux innocent question, because even just blind vampire seemed to be a common thing, and seeing as he was a blind person requesting books without them being large print, braille or audio alone seemed to indicate there was nothing common to be found. Aurora paused at the end of the row where Human Poetry began, head tilted towards him, the cheek and the hint of orneriness catching her off guard, “I would loan you one of mine, but I annotate, which I’ve been told is either sacrilege or merely annoying.” She may not have actually gone to College, but she had still studied in her own way, and had spent enough time helping frantic students at the library that she had picked up some of their habits. The word choice had her thinking that, were it not for the thank you, this man might have known other Fae in his lifetime, “Then it is a very good thing your lifespan is long.” An apology rolled into a warning, Aurora would never be what she was, and it was best not to hope for much. Her steps resumed, eyes now at the end of each aisle labeled with regions of the world and languages. The meimei felt like it deserved comment, but truthfully, she was unsure about how to respond, because even she knew what it meant and she wasn’t sure how to feel about being called sister again. "Oh, I will surely come again." His hand reached his chest, fingers patting his large sweater right above his heart, like he was making the most solemn of promises. Feng took his time, but he always kept his word, whether it was a threat or a promise. Just like his show of fangs, whether it had been a threat, or just a too wide smile, he didn't point it out. He didn't add anything to her remark and he could almost see the way she'd cocked her eyebrow by the lilt in her voice, when she ironically asked that question, mischief dancing in his features, making him almost look childlike. He stopped when she did, raising his hands when she almost offered to lend him one of her books. "Most times I can't read handwriting, so the notes would stay yours and I wouldn't be bothered in the slightest." He offered, wondering if she learnt that in human classes, since it seemed to happen often when people were studying. He laughed at her comment, humming in agreement. "Luckily. And I've even learnt to be patient after a few centuries." Which also meant that he wouldn't be sidetrack anytime soon, remembering and inquiring about this notion she was an orator, maybe a storyteller at some point in her life. He let her take a few steps before he started following her again, long legs catching up quickly. "You should read Liu Changqing too. On Hearing a Lute Player." He suggested, and it could seem out of the blue, murmuring much under his breath the short lines of a quatrain, to make it easier translating it a beat later. "Your seven strings are like the voice/ Of a cold wind in the pines,/ Singing old beloved songs/ Which no one cares for any more." He tilted his head, stopping in his tracks and he turned towards an aisle in particular. "Have we made it? The ink smells different." Even with her scent of guava floating around, thick in the way it coated her blood too, he could detect something different, familiar in the way it grazed against his nose. Normally, she was excellent at figuring people out. Granted, depending on one’s definition, this man wasn’t strictly a person, but all the same. But while the picture of him was shifting and still coming into focus, it was at least becoming more clear with every word and shift in expression. It was only his intentions that were eluding her. Possibly colored the by bias, the perception that she had something in common with this man, though she couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly. It had her asking a bold yet still somehow demure question, “And are libraries your normal form of entertainment, sir, or is it just Librarians?” That curiosity that had been her constant companion since childhood clawed at her skin like a frantic cat wanting to get through the closed window at the birds on the other side. How, where and when, but that would be rude, and she just wasn’t as bold as she once was. Not as smooth either, whereas she used to be able to ask just about anyone nearly anything and spin it in such a way that they were pleased as punch to explain whatever intrusive question she had asked. Not for the first time since she came to Summerview, she lamented her lack of knowledge on the mortal born magical races, because perhaps that would give her some enlightenment. “Then I shall bring a book for you, perhaps… A vocabulary lesson, in return?” It wasn’t quite a deal, because even as far as she had drifted from her heritage (if running was the same as drifting) she was still more careful than that. Her intuition also told her that this man would be too careful to get pulled into such a thing without being fully aware of it. It was lucky that she compulsively carried her notebook with her, grabbing it with the same single mindedness most people paid attention to their cell phones these days. She paused against the end of the aisle, holding it up to the sign indicating Chinese Poetry to add the new titles, hoping she at least got the spelling close enough for Google to figure it out. In her defense, he had distracted her from telling him they had finally arrived. It had her peering at the sign, down the aisle, and then narrowing her eyes at him, “Titania, that’s remarkable.” Her mouth opened to ask questions before snapping shut and shaking her head, folding the notebook closed again and walking down the aisle, fingertips reaching out for the comforting and familiar texture of books on her exposed fingertips as she looked for the initial book of poetry he had asked for. It didn’t take her long to find them, “Let’s see, we have a large print, a very old copy with few frills,” There was fondness in her voice at that, like greeting a dear friend, “One with translations that I’m going to borrow, and oh, one with a study guide, that’s considerate” The last two had her eyes darting from one to the other consideringly before finally deciding on the one with just translations for herself, glancing up at him from where she knelt on the floor, already fairly sure which one he would pick. He literally snorted at the question, amused by how, minute after minute they spent together, she turner cheekier, and he had the distinct feeling that she'd been trying hard to hide herself, but her personality just seeped through. "When you've been around for a while you have to turn everything in a form of entertainment, don't you think? Or else you'll naturally die of boredom." And he was good at that, prodding and poking and playing with people, until everything became a fun game to keep him occupied. "But to reply to your question, not all Librarians, just you, it seems." He smiled and it looked rather honest in the way it made him look young, brought his features back to the time when he still was actually harmless, unlike now. He weighed her offer and hummed. "I think we have a deal." He agreed, wondering what interesting thing would come out of it, this curious turn of events entertaining him to no end. Having the chance to peek inside people, especially people who liked to keep everything under wraps, was the ultimate source of fun for someone like him. He heard it clearly, how she opened her mouth and then closed it again, but he didn't point it out just yet, instead waiting for her to look for the Tang poetry book, almost laughing when she seemed impressed by his sense of smell. "The very old one, of course. That's the one that smells like home." He picked easily, sure she knew as well by now which one was perfect for him. He reached out, long fingers waiting impatiently for the weight to be added in them. "Since you've been so kind to give me your time today, you should ask the question you were thinking about. If not this time, the next. I will answer." He offered, fairly sure it was a good deal since she'd felt curious about something. "I am Feng Huang, you'll need to write down who you loaned it to, is that right?" Aurora’s head tilted at that, one corner of her lips tilting up in a crooked reflection of her old one, “I would be careful of that, if I were you. My people have been playing that game far longer than yours.” It was a warning, perhaps, though against what and for which of them — or both — it was hard to say exactly. The longer this went on the longer she sensed she was being played with, granted, of all people, she was more paranoid of that sort of thing than most. Paranoid, but able to tolerate it if it took a turn as well, which meant she was less afraid than she might ought to be. “I’m afraid I’m the least entertaining thing in this building, possibly in a ten block radius.” It wasn’t humility, or even self deprecating, more of a mere statement of fact. Whether it was because he was responding to an offer she had made, because she was among magical folk on a surprising magical land or the fact that he was magic as well, but the word deal seemed to sink fast through the wool of her sweater — past the ropes she used to bind herself and her magic inside, stirring things like holding bloody meat in front of a starving hunting dog. Guava and old books, sharper than she had smelled in a century for one beat of her jackrabbit heart before she stuffed it down with, “No deal, just a friendly exchange. No obligations.” Aurora felt it pace inside her claws extending as she shoved it back into where he had dwelled for so long, the smell and tingling in her fingertips dying down like a bonfire hit with a sudden wave from the ocean. When she handed the book to him she was careful not to let her fingers touch his, soft pleather gloves dragging less against the cover than her rough hands would have. Her head tilted as she stood, stowing the others and taking the one with just the translations with her in the process, “I will not. It would be an unequal exchange, unlike our other, and that sits worse on my stomach than spoiled milk.” Calm and serene, but while her magic and personality may be bound up, her shoulders were back and her head was held high. This was a game that she shouldn’t play, and yet, there she was, one curious eyebrow raised. “I will. You have one month from today, but I assume you’ll finish it much sooner, Mr. Huang.” Aurora considered writing it down, but she had no doubts that she wouldn’t forget it. Feng sensed the way his comment almost made her close up, quickly aware of the shifts in the atmosphere because of his condition and he slightly changed his behavior, lest he'd lose the cordiality he'd worked to get till then. "I have a feeling your knowledge is much wider than mine, so that makes your company entertaining. I'm not quite a... learned person." He was a curious person, but he'd always been more knowledgeable in the practical ways: ways to survive on the streets, or to fight, ways to feed himself as times and places changed, without getting in trouble. Probably if he'd stayed longer with his maker, he could've turned into a more sophisticated version of himself. But that hadn't been the case and the best he could do was reading by himself and learning words by heart so he'd never lose them. This librarian he still didn't know the name of sounded lettered, unlike him. He had the feeling he could learn a lot by spending time with her. Her magic surged violently, unexpectedly, her heartbeat sounding so loud for a moment that it echoed in Feng's sensitive ears. He couldn't help the way he frowned, wondering what had set off that change, unaware of the way that one word had affected her. The colors of her magic filled his vision dark orange and deep red and all the shades in between, and both his hands twitched at the suddenness, not used to such an abrupt shift in her energy, like a flash in his darkness. His cane slipped from his hold, making a piercing noise in that quiet atmosphere. Qi usually flowed, its intensity changing almost with gracefulness. Hers was something he'd truthfully never met before: it went back and forth, to opposites, from a timid firefly to a raging blaze. There was no balance, just harsh attempts at keeping it controlled. “Obligations”: were those what scared her so much that her magic snapped? "A friendly exchange." He repeated, as acknowledgement, while he crouched down, pale fingers brushing the ground to find his stick while his opposite hand caught the book. He retrieved it with a sigh and planted the end of his cane firmly in the floor, helping himself to get up again. Her choice of words made him smile. What he was able to see made all exchanges unequal, he would guess, especially in this case, but he would never point that out. He just gave a gesture with the hand that was holding onto the book, a roll of the wrist, 'as you wish'. "Feng. Just Feng. I'm no mister and no sir." He laughed and lingered just a moment longer, head tilting to the side. "Since I don't know your name, you'll be yinghuo." He smiled, and pronounced it again, more slowly, to give her the chance to recognize the two sounds that made it. "Next time, you'll tell me if you've found out what it means." He gave her a nod as a greeting, turning his back towards her and finding the way back rather easily, with centuries of experience memorizing paths. "Be careful, there are weird people coming to the library at night!" He warned humorously from a distance, while waving his busy hand in the air, his cane wandering on the floor, tic-tic tic-tic. |