all librarians are bastards ; alain & joyce blitz

{ alain ;

Here's the thing - nobody returns their library books.

Nimmons, bless her heart, is fragile as sugar glass and everyone knows it. It's safe to assume she's too busy having a hushed conversation with dust particles to be bothered with keeping track of due dates. I've never seen the point of being worried about it. Liking to read a little too much is pretty low on my list of concerning behaviors. Besides, given that this is a closed campus even lost books have a habit of showing up at some point.

Except, of course, that one supernatural romance a kid hated so much they tried to throw it off the mountain from the rooftop. I once proposed we form a search and rescue party to retrieve it but Professor Cheng caught wind of that plan before it fully took off.

I didn't even think Nimmons kept track of the books people had taken out but I should have figured there was a method to her madness. Painstakingly efficient if the long list of tiny names sitting pretty in my palms is any indication. "Professor," The warmth of a smile on my lips is genuine, even though I speak through slightly grit teeth, "While I'm more than happy to track down some irresponsible book borrowers, I think the moral support is unnecessary."

The air in the library is slightly stale, tasting of aged paper and the secrets trapped upon them. The library itself is wonderfully stagnant, a living picture. It's a lovely place to be alone and less so one to find myself in unwelcome company. "Joyce is far too stern, I'll have better luck talking kids into returning your things if they aren't too thoroughly lectured beforehand."

My tone is light, lilting and playful as I glance at Joyce from the corner of my vision - hopeful to catch the impact of my words. I'm not looking to draw blood just leave some shallow scratches. We play this game often, a sometimes friendly rivalry which forces us to be better than we'd be capable of alone. "I've got this Big J, don't worry." I reach out and pat her shoulder lightly before turning on my heel and making for the door, "You can go back to your singing, this'll be a piece of cake."

Before I leave, I make sure I hear her footsteps following after mine.