ArchivedLogs:Seriously Serious

Seriously Serious
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Shelby
In Absentia	2013-01-01 The ground rules are established.
Location East Harlem
<NYC> Iolaus's Apartment - East Harlem By the time Iolaus brings Shelby back home, the evening has turned into nighttime when he unlocks the door downstairs and takes the elevator up to his apartment on the fifth floor. He unlocks the door to his apartment and opens it to let Shelby step inside, reaching past her to flick on the lights. "Here we go," he says with a smile, glancing around the interior as if checking to see if it had changed. "Come on in." he says, before following her into the inside. "Make yourself at home." he says, gesturing to the couches. "I don't... think I really have anything for us to eat here, but we can order something. I think I have some menus in the kitchen...." he trails off, stepping over to the aforementioned to search its drawers for any useful contents. Hours of staring at borrowed internet while Iolaus worked has left Shelby a little gritty-eyed. She cracks a yawn as they reach the front door and rubs at her face as she's shown in. If she has a bag or things to fetch, she hasn't mentioned it; the guitar case is still along for the ride. "So. Uh. You live here, huh?" She too is glancing around and from the skepticism on her face, it's clear she was expecting something a little grander. "It's nice," she says, and that's honest. She just expected -nicer-. But it doesn't keep her from clumping inside, neglecting to remove her battered old sneakers but pulling off gloves and toque as she aims for the couches. "I do. I think I'm at work more than I'm here, though." Iolaus replies, head halfway in a cabinet. He frowns, pulling back long enough to rub the tip of his nose with a finger, thoughtfully. "I have no idea what I did with the menus." He shrugs to himself, turning to look back at Shelby. "Do you want something more to eat before you go to sleep?" he asks, walking over to his bedroom and vanishing inside. The door stays open, revealing the bed, and a few frames hanging on the wall - one a map of Greece, one a painting of a replica of a mosaic from Rome, and one a black and white photograph of a statue of a lion. He returns a few moments later, carrying two pillows, a sheet, and a blanket, which he drops on the other couch. "Yeah, it kinda shows." This she says very, very quietly as she looks about; it isn't intended to be overheard. When the good doctor reappears, Shelby perks up and gives him a smile. "Nah, it's okay. I'm still totally full from lunch." And then he's gone again, leaving her to twist and lean over the arm of the couch to blatantly steal a better look of the bedroom. When he's heard returning, zoop, back to upright she goes, appearing to wrestle with the zipper on her puffy jacket. That comes off, the hoodie beneath it, and two of the second-hand sweaters beneath -that- before she reaches a cardigan she's happy to keep on. The kid is smaller than she looks. "Are you hungry? I got some munchies in the case if you want." "Nah, I'm alright." Iolaus says, with a small smile. "You look about ready to pass out." he says. "If you want to dim the lights, you can push the little button next to the switch over there," he continues, pointing towards the door. "Or if you want to stay up, I have an tablet you could get onto the internet on, or watch movies or something." He glances around the room, a slight frown. "Or you could read, though I am not sure what kind of books you like." he pauses. "That brings me to the most important rule I have. Be very, very gentle with the books. If they look old, use the gloves and the spine-holder that are on the shelf." Things being pointed out are noted in turn but Shelby is more concerned with unlacing her sneakers and toeing them off. Only God knows how long she's been wearing that same pair of socks but there is a definite Frito smell involved until she peels them off and stuffs them back down into the shoes. With that task done, she stretches out her legs, wiggles her toes and collapses with a sigh of contentment. "Right, switch, tablet, movies...wait." She looks from man to shelves back to man, eyes gone askew. "...spine...holders?" Iolaus pauses, a bemused look on his face. He picks up a v-shaped piece of plastic and holds it up. "This. You put the book in it, and it supports the spine of the book." he gives her a bemused look. "Or, perhaps, I suggest just staying away from any of the books that are a couple hundred years old. Stick to the ones made in the last 50 year or so." he says, with a wink. "How come you've got books that old?" Shelby's previous tiredness vanishes in the face of sudden curiosity. Just like a cat, now that she's been warned away from something, she gets up to go over and see. At least she clasps her hands behind her back before getting there. "Do any of them have pictures? Did you get them from a museum or something?" It must be easier to determine a book's age by getting in close; she bends towards the eye-level shelf to study the spines in earnest, ignoring their holders entirely. "How come you've got books that old?" Shelby's previous tiredness vanishes in the face of sudden curiosity. Just like a cat, now that she's been warned away from something, she gets up to go over and see. At least she clasps her hands behind her back before getting there. "Do any of them have pictures? Did you get them from a museum or something?" It must be easier to determine a book's age by getting in close; she bends towards the eye-level shelf to study the spines in earnest, ignoring their holders entirely. The older books are mixed in with the younger ones, certainly, but some are much easier to spot for several are inside archival boxes, with a small glass window to read the spine. "No, I didn't get any from a museum. None of them are valuable enough to deserve to be there. But, I like books. Old ones, too." he says, looking over the shelves affectionately. He yawns himself and stretches, the sound of cracking as he stretches his spine and brings his elbow over his face to suppress the yawn. Blinking, he plops down onto the unclaimed couch. Shelby is careful not to touch. Very careful. It wouldn't do to be kicked out within hours of the invitation. "How come?" Such a broad, sweeping question really should be followed by some sort of clarification but...let's please take age and ignorance into account. Without Iolaus there to supervise her book perusing, she too returns to the couch piled with sleep stuff. Sheets and blanket are shaken out and patted into a nestlike shape. "I don't know, really. I've always been interested in things from history - though, my interests are usually almost two thousand years older than any of the books that I own." Iolaus says, a chuckle sounding from somewhere inside his chest. "But... sometimes, it's nice to be able to feel a link with the past, to help remind you of the future." His lips purse, and he looks up a the ceiling. "I don't know if that made any sense at all." There's a whumph of fabric and upholstery as Shelby gets herself settled in her 'nest'. Curled up with the blanket wrapped around her, she's once again bulky with a wee head. To her credit, she does attempt to listen to the explanation but it's somewhat beyond her ken at this stage in life. "Um...not really," she says, looking uneasy. That emotion is quickly shoved away, allowing her to say with better humor, "Two thousand years, huh? Maybe that's your mutation. You like, bond to old stuff or something." "That'd be a crappy sort of mutation," Iolaus says, chuckling. "My mutation is to 'like old stuff'. Snore." he drawls, folding his arms over his chest for a moment. He stands up and stretches once more, shaking his head. "Besides, I know I don't have the X-gene. I've tested myself. I have my entire DNA typed out, and I know the X-gene isn't in it." He shrugs his shoulders, eyes twinkling. "Boring old homo sapiens sapiens." "It'd be better than some. I knew a guy who was like...always being followed by bugs. They -loved- him. He couldn't make them do anything, they were just always there. And this one girl, she could turn her hair and eyes different colors but just normal colors. -That's- boring." Shelby's eyes track him through his stretching. "Yeah?" There's a slight pause before she observes, "You're not too boring, really. Maybe like...kind of old for a guy your age, but not boring. I mean, you just like invited me to stay over, right? I could be an axe murderer." "You're a little young to be an axe murderer, no?" Iolaus says, stepping towards his doorway and lookign at her with a bemused look. "Besides, I would think I'm more useful to you as a doctor than as a corpse, axe murderer or no." he says, tilting his head to one side and winking. "Being an axe murderer is one thing - being self-destructive is another." It is either a terrible joke or a serious statement of priority - his face gives no sign about his seriousness. Shelby is in no shape or lacks the ability to follow him. The twinkle is recognize though, and so she wrinkles her nose at him to cover for a grin. "Yeah yeah. Whatever." Oh, the dismissive ability of teenagers. "Thanks, anyway. For letting me crash here. If you wanna get to bed I promise I'm not gonna go through your cabinets and take off with anything. Honest." One of her hands emerges from the blanket cocoon and sketches a lopsided cross over the approximate location of her heart. "Alright. I'll be waking up pretty early, so I'll probably be out of here while you're still asleep. If not, though, we can catch up in the morning." Iolaus says, sleepily, as he leans against the doorframe. "You've got pillows, blanket, sheets," he mururs to himself, checking. Then he nods, satisfied. "If you need anything, just knock on the door. I'm pretty easy to wake up." he says, an easy smile on his lips. "Alright?" "Yeah, sure." Shelby topples onto her side; the pillow had been arranged earlier so that now her head falls squarely onto it. "If you want me outta here, just poke me, huh? I was gonna go out and hit up another park for some cash tomorrow anyway, you know?" she says, both her smile and the statement split in half by a huge yawn before she's able to finish. "Sure thing. And you've got my number if you do decide to leave." Iolaus gives her a nod and another smile. "Good night." he says, turning and stepping into his room. He shuts the door with a push of his hand behind him, and silence reigns in the apartment. It's a silence that's allowed to stretch out for several minutes. Partly because Shelby is comfy in her nest and also because she is listening very hard for signs that Iolaus has indeed gone to bed. When she's fairly certain he's settled in for the night...the blankets are pushed back and she sits up. Then she listens again. Then slowly, carefully, -quietly-, she eases to her feet and pads barefooted into the kitchen. The fridge is cracked open but only briefly, long enough to see what might be on offer; those drawers he'd rummaged through are her focus. People keep all sorts of stuff in kitchen junk drawers. Scraps of paper, notes, phone numbers... There is not much to be found. Some beer in the fridge, some scraps of random junk in the drawers. No phone numbers, though the menus can be found in the freezer for some reason. There is a jug of milk that expired sometime the previous year and might very well be part of some scientific trial to see whether mold can gain sentience, and some leftovers that might very well be part of a weaponized bacterial trial. His drawers seem to also contain very non-kitchen items - one has a toolkit and some oil in it. He does have a good set of kitchenware, though it is apparently not often used, tucked away in one of the drawers, some of the items still in their boxes. She'd joked about keeping a knife under her pillow. This turns out to have not been a joke at all-- when one is found to fit her hand fairly well, Shelby palms it before going on with her search. A beer is also liberated from the fridge on a second trip back-- "oh god, gross," being her opinion of the science experiments-- once the drawers prove unsatisfying. She cracks this open (again careful, again quiet) and wanders back into the living room, sipping and keeping the knife at her side. The blade's point is a pretty handy tool, in a lot of ways. Wherever there is a stack of paper, she lifts edges with it in the same aimless, curious manner of a tourist. And the books...this time when Shelby approaches them, it's with an eye for titles, particularly anything that promises art or pictures. The beer is decent, at least, but the books are better. They are organized facistically, by library of congress number, so the art books automatically are clumped together. It seems Iolaus was not particularly lying about his interests - of the four artbooks on the shelves, all but one of them are on Ancient Greece or Ancient Rome. The one remaining is a thick oversized beast of a thing, titled rather simply: 20th Century World Architecture. It contains pictures and descriptions of most of the beautiful or famous buildings built in the last hundred years. Hopefully none of these books are of the sort she's been warned about, because Shelby isn't shy about prying out two or three-- including the one on architecture-- to bear back to the couch. There she settles, cross-legged, beer in one hand and knife beside her thigh, to begin paging through them. No gloves, no spine holders, no nothin'. Naturally, every image she looks at has its antics to perform, save for those she finds especially boring. Buildings, it turns out, hold no fascination for her after she's warped them into something out of Alice in Wonderland. "Okay, dude, you're like...seriously maybe a little too serious. Wow." And so it will go, flipping through, drinking "borrowed" beer, and passing judgment on a nice man's reading material. It's probably the most normal night she's had in weeks.