Morning shifts were lovely. The dawn wasn't kind, but she liked leaving her house after that, when the world was still stretching and waking up, or at least, half of it. Living in NYC had given her an appreciation for cities that were never quite still that Woodstock and Poughkeepsie hadn't taught her, and the novelty of observing humans at different points of the day still hadn't quite worn off. It was different in Summerview, of course, because the town was largely filled with non-humans.
But she did better if she didn't think of them that way. If she treated it as a normal walk to work, taking over for the last clerk, a hazelnut coffee in her thermos as she let the library guide her steps as she relaxed. A library was a library. In The Summerlands, in New York City, in Atlantic City, or even here, in this strange hodgepodge town. This is where she found feel at ease, even if sometimes it took a little more time than it would have for most people. Luckily, the library seemed to understand. That was one thing that was different about this Library than any other she had encountered away from her homeland. It was alive, like a Knowe. Or, not quite, but she could feel the resemblance under her feet and through her fingertips when she touched the walls. It often lead her in a meandering path when she in a particular Mood. When she had slept extra poorly, or when another Fae had shown too much interest in her that day and it left her -
Unsettled, to say the very least.
On this particular morning though, she was calm, having slept better than most nights, yet the library did not guide her steps back to her station for her to truly start her day. Instead up to the third floor, one of the least requested rooms, and she felt a pleasant vibration in her feet that said she had done right. Which meant it was on her to figure out why she was supposed to be here, exactly.
It didn't take long to find the man sleeping on one of the couches. Nor did it take many leaps of logic to figure out why he had been sleeping there. The newspapers, the duffel bag, the guitar. The library was warm, or so she was told, though Aurora was nearly always cold. Was he? She pulled her large sweater over her head, still leaving a turtleneck underneath, along with her ever-present gloved hands that kept her hidden from the world when she reached out to drape the sweater over his shoulders. Stepping back, heavy boots still largely quiet due to her slight frame and dancer's footsteps, precise and nimble even after all this time.