"_What_?"

[hazlogs]

It is currently 17:25 Pacific Time on Mon Jan 26 2004.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (31% full).

Dark Wine and Roses - Used and Rare Books

This floor seems to consist of one huge room, covering the area of both the
      cafe and the bookshop below. None of the walls can be seen; any area of 
      the wall not containing a window is covered with bookcases. Further 
      shelves divide the room into individual sections. Small signs hanging 
      from the ceiling serve to direct one to the general area of interest. The 
      air in the room seems slightly cool and dry, possibly climate control to 
      help preserve the books. Ceiling lamps hang from above, but the room here 
      is slightly darker than the floor below, since there are no white wall 
      surfaces to reflect light. Also, the windows are fairly small and narrow, 
      so damaging sunlight won't fade the books. Half of the room seems devoted 
      to used books, while the other half holds older, rare volumes. Various 
      chairs are scattered around the sections, allowing one to browse through 
      a book in comfort, and several reading stands are available to aid in 
      holding heavier books.

A spiral staircase leading down can be found close to one of the windows. It's
      set about halfway down the length of the room, close to the north wall.

Jean is settled comfortably in one of the books in the rare book section, legs
      crossed demurely at the knee which props up the volume while she reads. 
      Her cheek rests against her hand, elbow on the arm of the chair.

Crocuta clumps in, her new boots heavy on the floor, hands stuffed into her
      pockets and a black backpack hanging off one shoulder. With a sullen 
      expression, she wanders the shelves, aimlessly.

Jean looks up and scowls at the heavy footsteps, but then looks back at her
      book, attempting to tune it out.

[Jean]

A girl of late teen years, she is slightly above average in height, willowy
      stature accentuated by a slenderness of body and limbs which give the 
      impression of fragility. Her hair is a russet red at odds with dark 
      eyebrows, suggesting a dye job, but is the most noticable attribute, 
      falling loose to her shoulders in flattering layers and thick cut bangs. 
      Her eyes are also dark, a rich brown, and her complexion just hinted with 
      tan. Her features are strongly defined, a prominant blade of nose, sharp 
      cheekbones, an angular jawline ending in a pointed chin. A smile seems to 
      be always at the ready and, when she speaks, her voice is melodious, with 
      just a trace of an accent so faint as to be unidentifiable--the 
      perceptive may be the only ones to even notice it from a normal 
      Midwestern American speech pattern.

Even more annoying than the clumping boots is the harsh, tinny music coming out
      of the girl's headphones, some kind of thrash-punk thing by some angry 
      young man who hates his father, or something.

Jean puts up with it for maybe five or ten minutes, especially if it doesn't
      decrease in volume at all during that time.

Alas, the volume does not decrease. Drifting along the shelves, Crocuta mutters
      lyrics under her breath and skims the titles.

Jean finally rises to her feet. She puts the book, an old volume of "A Day in
      the Life of Ivan Denisovich" in the original Russian, aside gently, then 
      approaches Crocuta down the aisle she's seated at. If standing there 
      doesn't get her attention, she will tap on the punk girl's shoulder.

Crocuta glances around at the tap and frowns at Jean. Then she pulls off one of
      the headphones (more tinny angry music, only louder) and says, curtly and 
      coarsely, "Yeah?"

"I know this isn't a library," Jean starts politely, "but could I request that
      you turn down your music, please?"

Crocuta wrinkles her nose and replaces the headphone. She answers Jean with a
      gesture -- the kind that involves an upthrust middle finger.

Jean pages: Is it the kind of headsets which are plugged into a walkman, or is
      it a radio-in-the-headphones thing?
You paged Jean with 'Plugged into walkman. CD player, actually, that's in a
      coat pocket.'.

Jean taps Crocuta on the shoulder again, looking unphased by the rudeness for
      the moment.

Crocuta turns a little more sharply this time, with a deeper scowl. "_What_?"

Jean's smile is warm in the face of the sharpness. "Please, could you turn down
      the music? I believe it might be okay to listen to it downstairs in the 
      new books, or in the cafe."

Crocuta rolls her eyes. "_Fine_," she says, aggravated. But at least she turns
      it down a little. It's still audible, just not quite as annoyingly so. 
      Then she starts to turn away, muttering, "Bitch," under her breath.

Jean, again, simply smiles. "Thank you," then heads back to the chair and her
      book.

Crocuta flips Jean off again and goes back to browsing the shelves. Probably to
      the Shadow Lord's relief, the punk finds reason to check out the books on 
      the opposite side of the room.

Eventually, the punk-goth clumps back downstairs.