booker/elizabeth - open to others - afternoon
The nightmare warning hadn't bothered Booker any. He'd had his fair share of horror in sleep that he was sure nothing this fucking place could ever come close to. Not that he slept all that much save when he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He still came with his own portable cup of coffee--the only of few contraptions he'd deemed useful from their modern society, or whatever hell year this was supposed to be--because he'd rather be drinking right now, and that obviously wasn't going to happen, so coffee it was.
Seeing Elizabeth wearing herself to exhaustion didn't come a surprise, especially after their conversation on the network. He was more than seething but it at least had boiled over. More than anything he was just irritated that he didn't know how to handle the situation. Her mother would have been better suited for all of this. Booker didn't know how you were supposed to protect someone you loved when they blew off your logic for their own ambitions. He knew shit all about being a parent, period.
He said nothing when she pointed to the book she wanted, putting his coffee down and moving towards the shelf. Even he had to stand on his tip toes to reach up and take it, moving his head out of the way of falling dust. But briefly he glanced down to the tribal markings and motifs along the cover, his jaw twisting as that sparked it's own set of emotions, but he put those aside. There were fresh problems to be dealing with after all.
"Sure." He held her eye contact only until she took the book before finding a chair to sit back in, letting his arms rest over the chair and glancing around to the rest of the library, eyes falling over the other researchers and their flurried and tired hurry. "Oddly enough? You were put in there by a bunch of racist, white supremacists. Why the hell would they allow such a thing in your library?"