ArchivedLogs:Kittens

Kittens
/Ferocious/ Kittens! XD
Dramatis Personae Micah, Trib
In Absentia	17 July 2013 Micah and Trib with the Graphic Novels in the Library.
Location <NYC> NY Public Library - Midtown East
Guarded by two lions nicknamed Patience and Fortitude, the main branch of New York's public library system provides a space for New York residents to do more than just check out books. The reference library holds thousands of works, and the reading room is a majestic work of architecture in its own right. The computer lab and free internet access is available to all who need it. It is early evening in the city and yet, somehow, still over 90 degrees outside. The library is seeing an uptick in popularity with the latest heat wave, what with being public accommodations and boasting both air conditioning and entertainment that involves minimal physical activity at the same time. The vast majority of the computer terminals have been claimed, as well as the most comfortable reading corners. Micah's goal is less air conditioning and more returning a pair of graphic novels and switching them out for new ones. He has a newsboy cap pressed low on his forehead to help keep the sun out of his eyes, auburn hair sticking out at odd angles from beneath it. A white T-shirt with the image of an ecstatic T-rex brandishing a pair of adaptive reaching aids under the heading 'UNSTOPPABLE!' and a pair of faded, well-patched jeans complete the rest of what might be called an outfit. Micah stops at the returns desk to plunk down his two books with their dark covers illustrated in motifs suggestive of skulls and spines, eyes and archways. He chats casually with the woman behind the desk, both full of smiles for a few moments before he continues back into the stacks to find replacement reading. And who is back in those stacks, among the graphic novels? None other than Trib, who might look completely /lost/ in the sea of multicolored spines and vibrant covers. The big man is dressed for the heat in a pair of dark green cargo shorts and a white t-shirt with a black lightning bolt on the chest. So he doesn't look out of /place/. Just a bit wandery. Currently, the big man is hunched over a manga novel, turning the pages one way, then the other, his brow furrowed in concentration as he attempts to determine something about the book. "Fuckin' confusin' things," he's muttering to himself. "Don't even know how he /reads/ this shit. Where's the fuckin' superheroes?" Despite the fact that Micah's eyes are focused on the shelving labels, Trib manages to grab his attention. Side effects of being over six feet tall, you know. His lips twist into a smirk at the big man's consternation as he drifts over and taps the top of the book in his hands. “I think you got the wrong genre if you're lookin' for traditional superheroes, there,” serves as his greeting. “They got some seriously worthwhile compilations on the shelves if you look in the right places, though.” Trib looks up when Micah speaks, and wrinkles his nose. "I don't get this shit," he says, holding up the book. It has a picture of robots on the cover. And a girl in a school uniform. Two things which clearly offend Trib as he smacks his hand against the cover. "Why the fuck would school girls drive giant robots? Who the fuck hires highschoolers to do that shit?" He ignores the hushing that follows that little outburst, and even glares at the stern-faced woman who pokes her head around the corner. But, when he speaks again, his voice is lower. "/An'/ the shit reads backwards, too. What the fuck?" Cheery hellos -- step right up! Micah presses his fingertips over his mouth to muffle the giggling that comes in reply to Trib's series of complaints. “Kids get crazy bonuses to mech piloting. It's just the way things work. An' most of the time nobody's /hirin'/ 'em to do it. They're uh...magically imbued with weapons knowledge or super-skilled child soldiers or just happen to be the last people on the island after its populace is decimated. Y'know. Cheerful stuff.” He has to bite his lip to quiet potential laughter again at the stern-shushing. “S'only backwards if you're used to readin' English. Lotsa languages read the other way, y'know.” His gaze slides back to Trib's book again. “What /are/ y'lookin' for, anyhow?” Trib looks almost /offended/ by the explanation of the premise, and he shakes his head. "See, that's what I'm talkin' about. Who sits around thinkin' up that kind of crap?" He flips the book open again, and turns the pages with a small frown. "Well, I only know English an' Spanish, an' both of them read left to right, front to back," he says with a snort. "This is all kinds of confusin'." The question gets a thoughtful hum, and the big man's gaze slides sideways to watch Micah as he returns the book to the shelf. "Oh. I gotta...person. He likes to read this kind of stuff, an' I thought I'd see what was so interestin' about it." He wrinkles his nose. "Don't they got any that are at least /fightin'/ ones? The Japanese invented kung fu or some shit, didn't they?" “Writers? It's kinda what they /do/. Just sit around bein' creative an' then puttin' it on paper. These just come with lots of illustrations, too. Bonus pretties,” Micah adds in what likely amounts to far too chipper a tone for Trib, wiggling his fingers cheerfully at the 'pretty'. “Well, that's gettin' stuck in languages based in Europe for you.” His eyebrows tick-tick-tick their way slowly upward at the explanation of the 'person' and his tastes. “Is your person specifically into manga, or just graphic novels in general? 'Cause I'm thinkin' we could maybe start you on somethin' a shade more /local/ an' work your way up.” His suspicion of that being a good idea is confirmed by the martial arts mismatch. “No...honey. Kung fu originated in /China/. Japan's got all kindsa their own styles, though. An' yes, there are different kindsa manga an' some of them are way less about mechs.” Trib snorts a laugh. "Pretty fuckin' sweet, gettin' paid to write down crazy shit," he says. "But good for the guys that can do it, I guess." He tips his head, narrowing one eye at spines of the books as he answers the question. "I don't know about graphic novels," he admits. "But he's got a lot of that manga stuff. Big stacks next to the couch." He smiles a bit, his mouth pulling to one side fondly. "You think I'm better off startin' out with somethin' like..." he taps the spine of a graphic novel, reading the name there. "'Kingdom Come'?" “Hey, if the stuff in your head is good enough to keep other people interested, an' you got the craft t'get it across? Go for it. I got all kindsa respect for artists of whatever type.” Micah leans against a shelf as he scans it along with Trib. “Might be y'should try readin' some graphic novels published more locally. Cut your teeth on the more Asian flavour of things with some anime instead. Won't have to worry about which way to turn pages or anythin'...an' you guys could find things to watch /together/, which could be nice in itself.” He pulls out the book that Trib indicated, handing it to him. “If you're into more traditional hero stuff, could be a good start. S'a mini-series, so it's short, which could help. Also. S'got Batman. Hard to go too wrong with Batman.” "What do you mean published locally?" Trib asks, wrinkling his nose. "You mean, like, published in New York? Or America in general?" His eyes crinkle in amusement, and he nods. "I don't know if it's gonna be my thing," he says. "But it's his thing, so I figure I should check it out, at least. But doin' it together would be nice, too." He accepts the book, flipping it open and lifting his eyebrows at the interior art. "This all looks like paintings," he says in a surprised sort of voice. "I don't remember comic books lookin' like this." He grins, and closes one eye. "Batman was cool, but I was a fan of Superman more." He grins. "I had to hide the few comics I got from my dad. Like porn or somethin'." He lifts his eyebrows as he continues to scan the shelves. "You sound like you know a lot about this kind of stuff," he notes. "Don't tell me you're a geek /an'/ a stalker." “Meanin' published someplace where they usually speak English. Keep it simple,” Micah clarifies with a resolute nod. “It's sweet of you to take an interest in his interests. I'm sure he'll appreciate it. An' you can see if there's any anime he particularly likes that he can share with you. Usually folks enjoy doin' that kinda thing.” A broad smile blooms across Micah's features at Trib's pleasant surprise. “There's some /amazin'/ art in graphic novels. Y'might be able to pick out ones you like just for the art. I'll do that now'n then.” He pulls off his hat, crumpling it in one hand, as he suddenly realises that there is no sun to bother shading in here. “I always liked that Batman didn't have no real /powers/. He's just incredibly clever. Okay...an' he can line-item a space station, which is almost a superpower. Also, gadgets. I really like gadgets.” He's back to giggling, but in a controlled enough fashion that he doesn't feel the need to muffle this time. “Y'mean we've spoken this many times an' you haven't figured I'm a huge geek yet?” His tone is rather /disappointed/. “Man, I must be losin' my touch.” "Yeah, I ain't ready to learn any new languages," Trib rumbles, his eyes crinkling. Then it's all lost in a look of dismay at Micah's comments on his sharing interests. "Aw, man. I've been called sweet /and/ cute this week," he says, shaking his head. "I gotta fuckin' get back in the ring, quick. Before someone calls me fuckin' /adorable/." He nods determinedly. This is a thing that must HAPPEN. "I didn't know comics had gotten so fancy," he says, and wrinkles his nose. "Huh. I should check more of these out." He grins at the comments on Batman, and at the question, he has an actual laugh. "Well, I had my suspicions," he affirms. "But even if I didn't, your little love letter there would have told me all I needed to know." He winks with the tease, and tips his head. "Well, that an' them shirts you wear. I don't understand 'em, so they must be pretty geeky." “It can actually be a good thing for you in the ring! Element of surprise an' all that. Like a ferocious kitten,” Micah offers oh-so-helpfully. The earnestness of his tone /may/ be tarnished somewhat by the amount of effort it is taking for him to keep a straight face. “They're an art form true as any other, for sure. I think that one will be a good start for you; y'should check it out.” He sidles down the aisle a bit in search of the items that he'd actually come looking for, locating them after a moment of scanning and pulling Volumes 9 and 10 of Neil Gaiman's 'The Sandman' from the shelf. Faces are very prominent on their covers, one a profile in orange over a leafy green background and the other depicting a more abstract figure made of cloud or shadow drifting over a cliffside village. “Oh, I think it's just that the shirts are a bunch of real specific references, usually, so they only make sense t'people as are into the same things. Though it's reassuring my geek cred. remains at least partly intact...” "A /kitten/?" Trib's voice raises enough that the stern-faced woman appears again, this time GLARING at both men before she issues a harsh "SHH!" and moves on. "A /kitten/?" he repeats in a much lower tone when the woman has disappeared. "Oh, man. That is fuckin' /it/." He shakes his head and tucks the book up under his arm. "I guess bein' big an' scary don't mean shit no more." He tries to /look/ scary, but the crinkle of his eyes give lie to it. "What's that you've picked up, there? That art looks pretty good." He grabs another graphic novel -- All-Star Superman -- and tucks it up with the first before he leans against the shelves lightly. "How're things with you?" One gets the feeling that this /may/ have been the reaction Micah anticipated by the way he hides himself behind the shield of his books, a fit of muted giggling audible nevertheless. He finally peeks back over the top of his bookshield, just a mop of auburn hair and pair of twinkling hazel eyes. "A /ferocious/ kitten. Don't underestimate the ferocity." The novels move from in front of his face when they are addressed. "Neil Gaiman. He does every kind of writin' ever. Short stories an' graphic novels an' regular novels an' screenplays an' children's books... Not exactly fantasy, at least not always, but certainly fantastic most of the time. Usually pretty dark. This is the end part of a series. Art was redone on it recently, so I've been readin' through 'em again." His fingertips drum lightly against the orange and green cover. "Actually ain't been nothin' too wild goin' on with me lately," he answers Trib's question with a tone that implies he's a bit surprised at it, himself. "An' you? I mean...aside from the new person. 'Cause that's clearly a thing." "Oh, well, if it's /ferocious/," Trib rumbles, rolling his eyes and lifting his hands. "I take it all back. Gimme some yarn." He makes a batty motion with his free hand, and rumbles a chuckle. The information on the graphic novels gets a head tilt, and the big man's eyes narrow. "I've heard of him," he says. "He wrote some novel about..." he taps his chin thoughtfully. "Shit. I read it in high school. Gods or somethin'." He shakes his head as the title eludes him, and lifts a shoulder. "'Sbeen pretty quiet for me, too," he grunts, rubbing a finger alongside his nose. "Which is kind of nice, but also means that the office ain't open, yet. Might have to take a job bouncin' or somethin' if it doesn't open up soon." Mention of his person gets another small curl of his lips. "Yeah. It's kind of new, but it looks promisin'." Trib is /not/ helping himself on the being called adorable front! Micah doesn't /say/ it, but he does have that obviously-read look of observing something adorable. “Hm. /American Gods/ is high school readin' now? Figure /that/ out.” He shakes his head. “Quiet can be good, sometimes. Not as good when it means your income's still runnin' dry. Sure you could get somebody t'pay you t'stand around an' look intimidatin'. Provided y'don't go battin' at anybody's knittin'.” Micah can't help but smirk at the image. “New can be good, too. An' definitely promisin'. Promisin' is nice.” Trib lifts a shoulder. "I don't know if it was on the list," he admits. "I just found it in my desk one day, an' started readin' it. It was pretty good. Kind of deep." He smiles, and rolls his eyes. "I figured it must be pretty fuckin' brilliant, 'cause I only got about half of it." He folds his arms over his chest and does his best intimidating look for Micah in demonstration. At his full height, with his brow lowered menacingly, it's pretty effective. Particularly when he rolls his neck, the vertebrae cracking. Then he grins, and it all fades right away. "Ain't much knittin' goin' on in clubs," he rumbles. "At least, not that I know of. I'll ask around, though, to be sure." He actually ducks his head at the final sentiment, and nods. "Yeah. He's pretty cool." There might be more, but then his phone sounds off with a chime, and he fishes it out to glance at the screen. "Speak of the devil..." he tucks his phone back in his pocket, and clears his throat. "I gotta scoot," he says in an apologetic rush, a bit of color working into his ears as he begins to back out of the aisle. "I'll give you a call soon, yeah? We'll grab some pie or somethin'." Micah lets out a soft snort of breath at Trib's repeated protestations of not-understanding. “I think y'get more'n you let on. Just used t'playin' up the jock thing.” He honestly does his best to look intimidated! Which fails mostly in that he can't...quite...suppress...the smile. Oops. At least there is a hint of cowering and hiding behind graphic novels? “I dunno, I've done knittin' about everyplace, so I figured it could happen.” The smile expands again, given full permission to do so, when Trib starts to make his exit. /Especially/ when the exit involves that hint of a blush. “Not t'worry, I understand priorities! An' pie sounds good.” He wiggles his fingers at Trib in farewell before hauling his bookly quarry up to the checkout desk.