saveourearth | Log (A Meeting at the Library)

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Log (A Meeting at the Library)

Date: 10/20
Characters: Jimmy and Yua

Jimmy had to talked to Yua over the network a few times, but he hadn't seen her in person since they briefly met at the convention. So when he spots her returning some books through the outside book slot he hastily shuffles around the books in his arms to get a better grip on them and hurries over to join her.

"Hey! It was Yua, right?"

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Yua isn't used to being recognized in public. Normally she tries to fly under the radar -- be quiet and quick and no one will bother you and try to make conversation where you'll potentially mess something up. She'd just meant to return a couple of library books that she'd finished; her head still was in the clouds about the one, which had been about a girl learning she was actually a queen, hidden away from usurpers to the throne, and had to accustom herself to her new role while raising a rebellion. (So good!)

When. "Hey! It was Yua, right?"

Bubble broken, sent crashing out of her thoughts, Yua finds herself face-to-face with the boy from the convention -- the one who's so cheerfully friendly, who talks about aliens on the network. Yua stares at him wide-eyed for a moment, caught off guard, probably too long for politeness before she manages, "A-Ah . . . Yes?"

She tries to slide the books back into the slot before he can see what she's been reading, though it may not be quick enough.

Jimmy spots a few of the titles as she shoves them into the slot, but he doesn't recognize any of the titles. He was mostly a single genre reader.

He had a tall stack of books held in his arms. Most of them were mysteries by various British authors, along with a few reference books and travel guides.

He grins at her. "Just wanted to make sure it was you. It can be a little different talking to people in person."

She flushes just a little as his eyes seem to catch the titles, but he doesn't say anything about them, so maybe she's escaped. Her fingers reach up to tuck the hair back behind her ear -- a nervous gesture to do something with the slightly anxious energy. "Hullo."

Her eyes then land on his book pile and soften, flicking over the titles. He likes to read too. This is definitely a plus in his favor. "It's . . . Jimmy. Right?"

As though not sure how he'll respond: "It's a lot of books. Are you going somewhere?"

That's an okay question, right? Those travel guides and references seem to indicate that he's planning something.

"That's right. I think we talked a few times on the network."

He shakes his head. "I was just going to go home after this." And then he belatedly realizes what the question was actually about. "Oh, you mean the travel guides. No, I'm not going anywhere. I mean, I'd like to go to London while I'm here, but I got the travel guides as research. I'm writing some mystery stories, and I wanted to see if I could come up with some train route alibi tricks."

"And . . . the convention too." Though the words dip a bit there -- nearly running into him was embarrassing, and she's not definite that she wants to remind him. It seems wrong not to, though, and have him potentially remember later.

Her eyes spark interest. ". . . You write?"

"All the time! I want to become a mystery writer."

He grins at her. "I'm not there yet, but I bet solving all the mysteries around here will give me some great ideas."

A little pink creeps into her cheeks again, and a smile emerges, small. "That's really amazing."

Thinking back to the sharks and other somewhat freaky issues that have stemmed from "the mysteries around here" so far, though: ". . . Do they include horror or sci-fi?"

Yes, slightly wry on that. This possible reincarnation thing has been a little rough so far.

He makes an irritated face.

"I try not to think too much about that part. Horror and scifi aren't really my favorite genres. Even if it seems like I can't avoid them here." He sighs. "You know, when I came to England I thought I was just going to spend a year visiting all the British mystery sites and writing stories."

That little smile lingers. "I thought -- or hoped -- I was going to be surrounded by castles. And knights. I guess I didn't really get that either."

Astonishingly enough, she's managing to string sentences together -- though she doesn't dare think about it too hard in case she jinxes it.

"I like sci-fi . . . but maybe more other worlds? Less . . . governments and aliens." Like they seem to be getting some of here. Maybe they're both caught living in genres they don't like.

"You're a little closer, maybe?" he offers. "I mean, I haven't seen any castles here, but there is the hillfort thing. And the ruins. And the aliens haven't been all that bad so far."

If sweatdrops were real, she might have produced one at that last statement. "There shouldn't even be aliens at all."

And definitely not in the same paragraph as castles, which were elegant and romantic and not creepy like aliens. Aliens mess up the romanticism.

. . . Life has become so strange in the last couple of months, that she has to have these types of thoughts at all.

Hesitant, as though she's not quite sure if it's rude to ask, ". . . You're American. Right?"

At least his accent seems that way. He still looks quite a bit Japanese, though, too, which confounds things.

"That's right?" He wasn't exactly sure why she was asking, but it wasn't exactly something he was trying to hide.

"I'm from New York. I came over here about six months ago as an exchange student."

"So you can't go home," she notes quietly. "Any more than you can go to the other British mystery sites."

Flushing a little, sensing she's made for some awkwardness, "I was thinking about why you'd made that comment earlier. About thinking you were just going to visit the British mystery sites when you came."

Also, privately, she's a little curious. That accent is definitely different, and she's not sure she's met an American beyond tourists in Tokyo and here. And tourists don't count.

"I could," he says slowly. "But if I leave this area I won't remember the numbers or the weird things that have happened or anything. I don't know if I like the idea of just forgetting like that."

He's definitely thought about this differently than she has -- he seems to treat it as a choice, as though it's a conscious decision to be weighed out and made. Her eyes flick away, embarrassed, though she's not sure she could say why. "I guess . . . I didn't think it was even a possibility?" No, that's not right, and quickly she shakes her head. "I mean . . . that if you lose the memories away from here, it doesn't seem like that's okay."

Trying to put her fingers on why, frowning slightly, she adds, "I mean . . . it would be nice to forget in some ways. There wouldn't be aliens any more. Or little sharks. But it seems . . . wrong?"

He grimaces.

"There are a few memories I've gotten here I wouldn't mind forgetting." He'd wanted to write mysteries, not have firsthand knowledge of exactly what a decapitation looked like. "But... I also don't want to lose what I've found here. And I don't like it that someone can just reach into my mind and take that all away as easily as it got put in."

He doesn't seem to be daunted by her embarrassment or awkwardness -- just gives a thoughtful reply. It eases her a little, relaxing the knot in her chest. Again she tucks a bit of hair around her ear and underneath the frame of her glasses. "That makes sense?" (Though it seems ominous, too. How many memories will she receive that she'd rather forget? Her first had been challenging.)

"For me . . ." She grapples with the right words. "I guess it feels . . . not honorable. Like this is something I'm supposed to have. And if I refuse and try to go somewhere else, I'm denying that person something they were supposed to give me."

Her eyes dart across his face. "If that makes sense?"

"I guess?" he offers. "I haven't really thought about it like that. I guess I've been worrying more about what will happen when I have to go home."

Because he would, eventually. The student exchange program only lasted for so long, and his parents had already started asking about when he was going to start applying to universities in the United States.

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Log (A Meeting at the Library)

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