//~!!READING RAINBOW!!~\\

[Elyssa]

Lucius stumbled among the shelves, six rather large books piled precariously in his hands. He walked at the pace of a snail, making sure the books weren't about to slip from his grasp. Tongue sticking half way from his mouth and brows furrowed, he made slow progress to the counter. The binding of a book called A Guide to Making Clocks stared him in the face, slipping closer and closer. Why he had gotten this book was unknown even to him. Maybe had wanted to make a certain clock at the moment of picking it up. Or maybe he had wanted to see how they made it for future reference. Whatever the thought, it had brought the book into his belonging and soon to be placed with the other books he had bought over the years. It was a great honor to be placed with those books! Lucius had once thought. They must whisper about how they wished they were bought by him. Of course, books did not speak, but so was the mind of Lucius. In his mind, everything was alive. And talking in such tones that humans could not comprehend to hear.
Almost to the counter, he sneezed, hitting his head on the pile of books in his hand. The books screamed in his mind as they fell to their doom. His glasses fell, clattering onto the ground and removing his clear vision. The rather fuzzy appearing multi colored books made loud noises as they hit the ground. One even made a crunch as it hit. He yelped, kneeling down and picking up the books. Then went onto the desperate search for his glasses. His fingers ran other the ground, when he found... part of his glasses.
Particularly a sharp and pointy piece. The boy yelled in pain as broken glass sliced open his pointer finger. He sniffed, tears dripping down from his eyes and onto his hand. "Owwie..." He whispered, sucking on his bleeding finger and attempting to find his glasses again with the other hand.
When he grabbed his glasses and put them on, an annoying crack webbed down the left eyeglass, and the other had fallen out completely. It left him confused as he picked up the rest of the books. It threw off his vision quite a bit. Lucius rubbed his eyes, removing the previous moisture. It was his fault he dropped them. He should of took them one at a time. He was trying to make it convenient for himself. Now he was getting the covers of those poor and innocent books slightly bloodied. If he wasn't such a clumsy oaf, maybe they would be in tip top condition. The poor dears hadn't done anything to him and now they were beaten and worn.
Tears fuzzied up his vision again as he thought of the little books anger and pain towards him. Lucius sniffed, stumbling up with books in hand. His cut finger stung horribly, but the books well fare came for that injury. He had to get the bookies to the counter. And so he began his slow trek to the counter once more, in a more careful stance then before.

[The Hatterdasher]

Normally, you’d expect a wide range of clientele at a bookstore. But still, there were some people you didn’t expect to be there. For example, the little girl in the Florence’s uniform who was desperately trying to reach the seventh shelf on a bookshelf. There was a person you didn’t expect. The small girl jumped to no avail, and she stared up at the shelf as the book she wanted stared back down at her. The spine of it seemed to snicker at her attempts to get it. She held her stuffed bunny, Bean, in the crook of her arm as she looked up at the book. Oh, if only she were tall, like normal kids! But she wasn’t. She sighed and looked at Bean, who looked back at her with a smile on his face. She frowned.

“Why are you smiling, Bean! If we don’t get ‘Where The Wild things Are’, Mr. Flops will be very upset! And if he is upset… Oh my.” She began to reach for the book again, straining as her fingers grazed it, and then grabbed hold. She pulled out the book slowly and she got it off the shelf at last, smiling as the cover illustration stared her in the face. It thought it could beat her. Well, it was wrong. She nodded as if to confirm that before walking through the bookstore, Bean, under her arm with the book behind him.

It was when she had the counter in sight that she heard something resembling a sneeze, then the clatter of books following. Her curious mind pulled her from the counter to the source of the noise. She ran at top speed to a bookshelf before stopping on a dime. She looked around it slowly, only to see the person who dropped the books. It was a boy, and his glasses were on the ground. She watched as he cut himself on a piece of glass and her eyes widened. Oh, that poor boy! She had to help him!

She watched as he stood with the books in hand, wiping his eyes. Was he crying? Oh no! She felt bad that he was crying, and she wanted to help him… She put one hand up her sleeve and drew out a handkerchief she kept for when she cried. She had just washed it that morning, so it wasn’t all snotty and teary and gross. She waited for the boy to get closer before speaking to him, her high pitched soprano breaking the silence of the shop. Her words were slightly louder than they should be, as most children’s voices were.

“Are you all right? Is your finger all right? Are you crying? How about I help you? I'm a good helper!” She carefully took two books off the top without waiting for a reply, holding them under her arm with Bean and ‘Where the Wild Things Are’. “I have a handkerchief if you need to wipe your eyes or your finger. Golly, your glasses got really smashed!” She whistled as she stared up at him, hoping she wasn’t too rude or to talkative. Her Daddy told her that sometimes she talked to much. “But that was a big fall, so I’m not surprised. There's even a piece of glass stuck in one of the books I took!”

Ah, the observations of children. Nothing slipped past them.

[Javert]

Fran Crawford was not a reader. [/size]

This was not to imply that she was entirely illiterate; she frequently wrote very lengthy letters, in fact, in sprawling cursive adorned with many jolly flourishes. Every other word, however, was spelled incorrectly, every time, no matter how valiantly she attempted to sound the syllables out and transfer them to paper. Silent letters completely eluded her, both mute and invisible upon her paper, and vowels were commonly used interchangeably, or not at all. Thus, it took her hours to write a single letter, as she fretted over the proper spelling of every solitary word, crossing out and rewriting in a heavier hand before obliterating them again, and many half-filled pieces of parchment took up unwilling residence within a nearby wastebasket.

It is of little surprise, then, that Fran also avoided most books—not as if they carried the plague, but perhaps as if they were the hosts of a minor yet relentless cold. It took her ages to read the smallest volume because her undutiful mind would often wander to other things. Her mother had various books of plants and flowers lying about the house, and Fran would, on occasion, idly flip through them, only to retreat out to her actual garden, book abandoned for flowers she could smell and feel and coddle as opposed to viewing them captive on glossy pages. She ultimately would be apostate to books in favor of immersing herself back into the real world, where she was most content (except for when daydreaming, which was also exponentially more satisfying than reading; why have someone's dreams infiltrate your head when you could create and delight in your own?).

Thus, Fran found herself slightly bewildered when she found herself in one of the last places she expected herself to be: the book store. She had been searching for the bakery, her heart set upon a delectable confectionery of some sort, and had apparently rushed headlong into the wrong store. As the little bells above the door chimed to announce her entry, Fran felt a blush hasten to her cheeks, as if she were Cinderella standing demurely at the top of the stairs—only to realize that she was at the wrong ball. A few words of protest bubbled to fizz behind her lips—oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'll be leaving now—before she realized that she was thoroughly lost and would indubitably remain so unless she asked for help.

Inhaling the unfamiliar smell of books, finding it strangely pleasing, in a dusty sort of way, but not nearly as aromatic as her garden, Fran, smiling sheepishly, proceeded on tiptoe into the bookstore, intending to locate the shopkeeper, when she heard a distant crash in the distance. Blinking, abandoning her attempt at silence, Fran hiked up her skirts as much as proper society would allow her to to ensure that she did not trip herself, and skidded around a corner, scarlet braid swinging haphazardly at her sudden stop like a pendulum, to see a boy, whom she assumed to be the fallen, and a young girl, whom she assumed to be a good Samaritan. “Dear me,” said Fran, eyes widening to take in the boy's bedraggled appearance, “are you alright? Is there something I can do? That sounded like quite an awful fall.” She seemed to be echoing the darling little girl, who was already helping the boy with his books, and Fran bestowed upon her an approving smile before looking back to the boy, her hands hovering before her as if eager to assist in any way necessary or wanted.? [/font]

[Elyssa]

((You both put me to shame. Shaaaaaaammmmmeeee....))



Lucius jumped as a child's voice sounded behind him, dropping the books he had picken up from the floor. He sent him into a full frontal spastic attack. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you! I was being clumsy and and and dropped my books. And you know reading is good development for a child's mind and I would despise myself if I got in the way with stupid reasons-" He stopped to breath, taking short breaths and having a minor hyperventilation attack. Then calmed down. "Thank you for your kind gesture, but I shouldn't take your handkerchief. I might get my worthless blood onto it." He said in calm tone, almost contradicting what he said. Lucius chuckled, smiled for a split second before the child mentioned how she had found a piece of glass in a book she had taken. The boy noticed another girl had approached him as well, seeming to have the same kind intent as the sweet child. His vision went blurry for a moment, yet again.
"I'm so sorry now I'm making a scene!! I'm the reason no one is able to concentrate!!! I'm so sorry!!!!" He said, his voice straining to remain quiet. He was a pox on this lovely book shop. It was cursed with his very presence and now he had made these two lovely girls worry about him. He should just leave the world entirely. He wasn't worth being cared about. He sniffed, ajusting his glasses. Thing was, he didn't even have the courage to commit suicide. So he might as well apologize and pick up these books. One had already been stabbed by his glasses, might as well fix it as soon as possible. He rushed down to pick up the rest of the objects, saying jumbled apologies in rapid fire to the girls. After Lucius had gather the books, he turned to the girls. "I'm really sorry I caused you so much trouble." Then he stayed quiet, thinking he had forgotten something. "AH! I'm sorry, I should really properly introuduce myself. I'm Lucius Ackert." Then he tried to bow.
Or was it a handshake.
Either way, he fell down again the process. Although he had a great hold this time, it just made the impact of the fall a tad more painful. The top of the pile jabbed under his jaw, making his teeth clunk loudly in his head. It almost made a grinding sound. It probably didn't make such a sound outside of his head. It almost made him wonder why that was. Why others couldn't hear those sounds that were so loud in your head but almost inaudible to the people around you. The pain jolted him from his reverie as he sat on the floor. He just sat there. In a shock. Not even able to flip out.

[The Hatterdasher]

Anya watched him as he dropped his books again, and she gasped. She sat hers on the counter and began to help. “No, it’s okay! I wasn’t reading anyway!” She stumbled to help him, but found herself not very useful. “No, it’s fine! I can wash it later!” She watched him with a concerned look on her face before noticing the other girl. She didn’t say anything to her, because now she felt a little silly. She should be helping more, but all she could do was stand there. She paused, watching him as he apologized again.

“Why do you apologize so much?” She asked, almost to herself, as she held Bean closer to her. She was trying to think of more to say, but her mind sort of wandered away. She began to daydream about pirates, something she was known to do. Her eyes glazed over and she had a faraway look in her eyes. She wasn’t even in the bookshop anymore. Her spirit was wandering, off to see the Bombay rat and the Cathay cat and gaze upon the kangaroo. Her mind snapped out of it though as she helped him pick up another book, her taking one side as if a team effort was needed to pick them up. She smiled at him, hoping to cheer him up, and he introduced himself.

“I’m Anasta-” She started, but as he bowed, or whatever, and fell over, her fell on top of her. Anya was trapped under him and all the books, falling over and hitting her head against the ground. There was a moment of silence as she gathered her bearings. All her thought processes stopped as she realized the pain in her forehead. Then as all small children do, her breathing got shorter, and her lip quivered a little bit, and suddenly, a low sound came from her throat.

And Anya began to cry.

“Owwwiieeee…” She started, voice cracking as she began to sob. She sat up then, trying to get off the floor. Books dropped from around her as she rubbed her forehead. A goose egg was starting to form as she started crying louder. “That huuuuuuuurt! And poor Bean… BEAN!” She shrieked, realizing the bunny wasn’t under her arm anymore. She started crying even louder, her mind thinking that her bunny was lost forever under a mountain of books. Her hand held onto her forehead as she sniffled, tears running down her cheeks to drop onto her torso and lap.

Well, Lucius didn’t have to worry about causing a commotion anymore. Anya was doing that just fine.

[Javert]

The poor boy, already having to cope with what appeared to be [/size]shattered glasses and what Fran deduced (from experience) to be skinned knees, possibly palms, and a heavily bruised ego and sense of balance, now seemed to be dissolving into a fit of hyperventilation that Fran was also far too familiar with. Thus, she did not simply blink and gape at him like a fish out of water, but spurred herself into the only action that she knew might produce a result: babbling. "You're not making a scene at all," she assured him soothingly, shaking her head, tiptoeing forward just in case any hazardous shards of glass still littered the floor, casualties of the attack of gravity against glasses. "I'm sure everyone is able to concentrate just fine.

"You know," she continued thoughtfully, brows furrowing slightly over blue-grey eyes, "I never really understood what you have to be ever so quiet in a library or a bookstore or something. When you're reading, aren't you just off in your own little world, anyway? I don't think anything could jolt me out of my own little world except for, well, me, and only if I used a lot of effort. I suppose that the book ending would work as well." As the realization dawned upon her, Fran delivered a little prayer upward, past the roof of the store, that no one would reach the last page of whatever book they were devouring and thus be distracted by the little spot of trouble they were wading through; apparently, this was a puddle that the boy couldn't just skip over. Fran doubted that she even had proper rain boots equipped, anyway, since she was so lost herself, and would have probably created a scene of her own as she traipsed through the labyrinthine bookshelves in a search for the shop owner. She was glad that such a quest was momentarily interrupted--not at the expense of this poor quivering creature, however.

Thus, when the boy introduced himself, a quick smile sprung to Fran's lips, and she bobbed a curtsy. "I'm Frances Crawford," she replied, pleased that she had managed a curtsy without being thrown off balance and into a neighboring bookshelf, "but do call me Fran, and it is just ever so wonderful to meet you, Lucius." She looked over to the little girl, who, upon a swift inspection, Fran deemed to be the single most adorable thing she had seen for a while. "Why, hello to you, too, miss," she smiled. "That's very kind of you to help him with his books! What's-- Oh, dear."

Her intention had been to ask the girl her name, and it seemed as if the girl had been in the initial stages of presenting it to the boy, before after a pair of syllables, the boy toppled forward again. As Fran released an automatic exclamation, she threw up her hands, palms out, as if they were loath for any passerby to wonder if they had pushed the boy, and she managed to totter several steps backward out of the line of fire. Down went both boy and girl, as Fran watched helplessly, wincing. Although she was slightly gladdened by the fact that, for once, she was not the one sprawled out on the floor, blushing furiously, there of her own fault, her concern for the boy eclipsed any relief, and even moreso did her concern for the girl, who now seemed entrapped, anchored to the floor by the boy atop her. “Is everyone alright?!” Fran gasped, words always preceding action, before, worrying that the answer would be 'no' if they each remained in their current position, she hastened forward, careful not to step on the masses of humanity at her feet and further increase their discomfort. She went to gently pull Lucius off of the yet unnamed little girl before they both sat up of their own accord. Kneeling down before them, Fran hesitated, unsure of who to attend first, before her maternal instinct made her brows furrow and her lips pucker in empathy, and she sat, drawing the child onto her knee as if she were one of Fran's young nieces. “There, there, you poor dear,” she tutted, a practiced thumb gently capturing stray tears beneath the girl's huge eyes. “What hurts the most? Is it your head? I'm so sorry; that didn't look like very much fun at all!” The ear of a stuffed rabbit protruded forlornly from beneath a book, and Fran carefully freed it from its prison of pages, presenting it to the girl with a reassuring smile. “Is this Bean? See, he's just fine and dandy! I'm sure he quite likes to read, since you seem like such a smart girl!”

Prepared and willing to employ any other of her tried-and-true tricks to stop tears and encourage grins, Fran looked back at Lucius, who remained abnormally quiet, as opposed to his earlier hysterics. “Are you at all hurt?” she asked, frowning, then tried, weakly, “Did you lose a stuffed animal, too?” She smiled at him, hoping to receive one in return. All thoughts of the bakery had dissipated, replaced by her concern for the pair; once she was certain that they would be alright, perhaps ravenous longings for a chocolate muffin would wriggle insistently to the forefront of her mind again, but for now, she was quite glad that she had stumbled into the bookshop, and was determined to help as much as a garrulous, overly enthusiastic teenager could.[/font]

[Elyssa]

He fell on a little kid.
Seriously FELL on a little kid, that was trying to help him.
Fighting red from his face as the older of the girls pulled him off of the child, the boy got to his knees and tried to remember the past few minutes.
The red headed one was called Fran, and the blonder child was Anasta. What a strange name... Lucius thought, looking at the two for a moment before gathering his books... Again. Fran seemed to be calming Anasta from her previous pain, the girls looking much like they were related some way. No, not by genetic appearance. But what, from he had read in his days, how maybe a mother may react to her crying child. Of course he had never personally experienced this since his mother died when he was born. But that was what he had assumed that kind of bond would look like.
Eh, look at him now. He was day dreaming again while he should be helping out. It was his mess anyway. Lucius returned to stacking the books, starting to think that he didn't really need them after all. Maybe with the book money he could buy pastries of some sort for Fran and Anasta. Sweets seemed to fix things well.
'Did you lose a stuffed animal, too?'
The boy looked up in surprise, remembering the lost-now-recovered Mr. Bun.
And laughed.
The noise surprised even the creator. After everything in his day so far, a laugh was not really expected on the agenda. The laugh didn't last very long, but it had still been there. Lucius smiled, slowly sliding the stacked books away to near table. "As I was unable to say before, it's very nice to meet you Anasta and Fran." He said, making a gesture with his hand as a substitute for a bow. Since he was still kneeling on the bookshop floor. It was almost starting to feel familiar and near welcoming. But sitting on the floor like a dog wasn't really proper etiquette. So he pulled himself up, yawning while doing so. "Why was there so much dust in the air here? You'd think that it would have as much dust as any other place." He thought aloud, the yawn causing dust motes to be sucked down high throat. Then looked at Anasta. "I'm sorry I fell on you." The words tumbled out as fast as he had tumbled earlier.
"But maybe a muffin of some sort can carry out my apologies better?" He asked, hopeful. Little kids liked muffins, right? Or was it cookies.
He knelt down, scooping the remains of his glasses into his palm, careful to avoid getting cut. "Or is it cup cakes?" Lucius asked, the question directed at the ceiling. So many flavored things all in one shop. It was amazing how they all fit inside without making the very walls explode.
Mmm, raining candy...
Well, if these girls weren't in the mood for the bakery, he would surely make the trip sometime today. Because the sudden sweet tooth was too hard to resist.
......
Not that there was much resistance in the first place!