At 7:00 am, Clyde wakes up. His alarm isn't on. He quietly assembles his casual outfit of turtleneck and jeans and drapes it over with a parka, checking out the window for the snow and peek of late sunrise. He goes out with his usual supplies, phone wallet keys and such, from the hotel and into the somber town. He searches for a library he passed yesterday, and he realizes he's minutes early to it opening. He sits on the rocking chair beside the door, watching the snowfall and wide street.
Nebula is up oddly early too. It's not quite in her nature to be up and walking before 9am, but the lingering dread of things happening without her awareness is stronger than usual today. No one quite realizes how hard work it is to make sure you're left alone, really. She pushes out of her house some time before 8am, and starts to slowly pace through the snow. She's somewhat underdressed and a tad cold, but it's one of the things she's learned to tackle for the sole purpose of her image. She's certainly become actually stronger and tougher through her efforts, and she knows this.
Clyde and Nebula are not nearly the first ones, though. It's a reasonably lively morning, with some extra traffic around the bakery two houses down on the opposite side of the street from Clyde. A few passersby give a glance, or two, and some even stop for a moment. Some faces are loosely familiar from yesterday, others certainly weren't present. Word must spread fast here, and he really isn't easy to miss with the pink hair.
Clyde watches the passerby with a mostly blank expression. Sometimes he shrugs if they are willing to stop. He doesn't want to live on yesterday's events. He's not sure if the town does either. He'd just leave Nebula alone, in the library... And she claims she didn't want to ruin the vacation, and she didn't hurt him, so the library is a quiet and remote enough place to be at peace. Even so, Clyde is on a larger guard than usual. He's even a bit proud of his interest in still enjoying the city despite Nebula. Maybe his boss did start to toughen his spirits... or give him subtle negligence for his safety.
Someone with a large ring of keys works on two locks of the door. He avoids looking in the general direction of Clyde, and enters inside leaving the door partially open. Clyde steps in after him, finding small aisles of literature and nonfiction to peruse. He thumbs a cover on the town's mysteries from the shelf, and he covers the title text on his parka.
Nebula has stopped by the bakery as so many others, for some morning food. She would have visited by the Café but it hasn't opened yet for the day. She... honestly isn't sure if she's too early for that or if there's something else the matter, but that can be found out later. Desired or not, she finds out that Clyde was just recently sitting outside the Library through listening in on others' conversations. Having big ears has its benefits, after all. Looking at the clock, she reasons he's been let inside by now. She chews on some bread.
The librarian, in between some morning sorting and paperwork, catches a hint of Clyde going where quite a few people have been before. It's a popular book, but just as much does it disappoint people. It's ever so slightly too outdated to cover Nebula and the rumors of "Astralytes", who was still rather fresh in town and mostly unsuspicious while this book was being authored. Assuming he does, in fact, have the book in question, likely means that Clyde is seeking knowledge instead of being well-informed, telling in and of itself.
Clyde scans through the table of contents for mentions of Nebula, Vanessa, and Astralytes... He even scans the chapter on murders, or gangs. No such thing, not involving what he knows from yesterday. He sighs and places the book back where he found it. He looks at some others books in this section and, unsatisfied, looks in the expansive in-comparison fiction aisles. And then, several minutes later, Clyde steps to the desk of the librarian. Removing his wallet, he says, "I have no l-library card.. S-Should I get one for these three books?" One is fantasy, one is historical fiction, and one is science fiction. Clyde hoped he didn't have to get to the last one before he got home. "I have cash or credit."
"Didn't find what you were looking for, I take it? She's good company, truly, when not troubled. So we don't trouble her. I best hope you're doing the same."
The librarian scans over the books - none of them are particularly fancy or expensive. "Tell you what. If you're not planning to stay around for too long, I can write those up for a $20 cash deposit instead of going through the process of issuing a card. You'll get it back when you're done with them."
Nebula has left the bakery, and looks around the street. She isn't sure what to do, so early. The Café is still not showing signs of life, oddly. She is hesitant to enter the library but it seems the best place to remain undisturbed for now if you ignore the context of Clyde being in there. She assumes, at least, it's been a small time.
She moves her boots around, enjoying the soft crunch of the fresh snow beneath them.
Clyde passes the librarian a twenty dollar bill, stows his wallet, and places the books in his arms. He sighs, again, at the mention of a 'she' and a 'her.' "I didn't m-mean anything to Nebula.. I will avoid her." He wants to ask the librarian who she is, really. If she's definitely killed someone, or some believe she was framed, or she's a soft person with bad connections, or some other fourth thing. He opens his mouth, but he struggles to push a question on it, instead mumbling under his breath gibberish. Clyde nods to the librarian and steps aside to the corner of the library on the closest wall, which has a small wooden chair and table. He examines the cover of the fantasy novel, which is very derivative of everything Clyde will ever see in his life, he's sure. Though, bad things in these novels are worse than real ones. People are more creatively wicked with magic, and fantasy is a common ground for thousand-foot armies.
She's cold. And indecisive. On a warmer day she might have chosen a different approach, but the draw of the comfortable warmth and quiet of the library is too appealing. She finally steps over the street and peeks her head inside. Carefully peering about, she can't see Clyde at first. Maybe he already left through the back? No matter, the warm air flowing over her now draws her inside almost unwillingly, and she brushes off her boots on the mat before with a startling silence walks them over the hard floor to the front desk. The quickly scrawled piece of paper that says "The Pink Guy" with three book titles and a twenty dollar bill place on it confirms that he at least was here.
"Did he try to read the book? My guess is he tried to read the book."
The Librarian nods. Clyde did in fact try to read the book. "We got in the latest copy of Crimefighter Frog, by the way. Freshly applied library stickers, just for you." He places it down on the counter and she takes it before... Actually, the table she had in mind is taken. Awkward She pretends not to see and finds herself a different one, just barely out of line of sight. Clyde can, however, see her legs as she once again has them placed on the table.
...Witches can brew weapons far worse than even the worst bioweapons, after all. And barbaric instruments like the flail are in style. It's terrifying to really imagine ever living in that world, for real. Clyde flips past the image of the woman with the shining crown and the terracotta mountain to read the first of many pages. Nothing unsettling in the worldbuilding yet, just elaboration on a castle hierarchy and two humble peasants on the grounds that'll be the focus of the tale. He raises his eyes from the novel.
The warmth in Clyde's cheeks fade as he recognizes the boots on the table across the library. How could he forget? He leaves the books at the table, grimaces at the librarian if he's paying any attention, and tiptoes past the front desk keeping his eyes down after seeing Nebula is reading something. It's almost certain she's there because he's there, so he's surprised when she doesn't clamber off her seat. He opens the front door, where a large gust of frosty wind and chunk of snow burst over the floor. And Clyde ducks his parka's hoodie and climbs out into the weather that's become nasty this past half hour. It's almost a whiteout.
The front door opens once more. It nearly shuts itself. Clyde's cheeks and lips are a bit blue, and he clutches his arms to his chest under his parka. It's only been less than a minute. "I-I'm o-okay," He says to the librarian.
Nebula appears undisturbed, but her ears tell a very different tale as they flick to analyze the commotion. She was afraid he'd be scared off but that was not surprising. The surprise was that he came back - She picks up on the faint howling of the wind as the door is briefly open. The forecasts has said there's risk of unstable weather today, but whatever she was imagining kept Clyde from leaving the place must be quite extreme.
The librarian hadn't fully noticed him leaving and is somewhat startled by the return. "Hm? ...you look a mess. Is it really that bad outside?" He walks over to a window and pulls the curtain aside. Nebula gets a small sightline as well, and she can't resist commenting a soft "oh dear", loud enough for both others to hear. The librarian can only nod in agreement. "Well, there's no way of telling how long it'll last, so you two might..." He realizes what he's saying has possibly unideal implications. "Have to stay here for a while. I can offer some hot chocolate."
The aura of rising awkwardness is not most subtle.
Nebula, and a new nobody, snowed into a building together. Clyde's usually been in close company he could trust, even though that's often been Ruedi, and once upon time that was his mother or at least friendly strangers. He swallows after saying, "It's v-very cold." And he teeters over to the table with his books again, hiding his face in the pages of the medieval make-believe.
After a couple minutes, Clyde does glance at the librarian, and even nod. Hot chocolate is kind of a nostalgic thing for him.. It was comically abundant where he grew up during these times of year. He only wished for a chimney and fireplace, and a warm blanket. He compromises the book from his face further because he reaches into his pocket, considering if he would find anything useful from calling Ruedi or emergency services. He returns to the pages, though. Help would be as slow as the afternoon winter storm itself. And Clyde catches himself drifting his eyes to her shoes sometimes.
Shortly after, the librarian returns with two cups of hot chocolate, as requested. Nebula must have accepted it as wordlessly as Clyde did. Nebula puts her legs down on the floor, in return for the drink. She's out of view for some while after... But soon enough she's finished the comic book, put it aside, and after just a minute or two of silence she's leant forward over the table, tapping her fingers onto the cover of the book, cheek on her arm and looking much more like a bored late teenager than someone of her perceived position. She doesn't glance over towards Clyde at first, presumably not even aware she's put herself in sightline.
"Are you sure this is the only new release since Tuesday?" She mumbles, displeased.
"Yes, Nessa, it's been a quiet week. Maybe Pinky has some good recommendations for heavier fictional literature, I know it's a struggle to choose... I didn't catch your name, by the way." Most of that is directed towards Clyde.
Clyde thanks the librarian for the hot chocolate with a polite stutter. He sips it, tracing his fingers over some of the passage in the story. By now he's made it to page thirty, but who's keeping track? The heroes in this story were going to have to venture into the unknown if they wanted to find what they needed to challenge the oversized anteater...
He respects the attention from the librarian, then, and even after realizing Nebula can clearly see him participate from halfway across her table he keeps his face mostly uncovered by his parka. "My name is Clyde. N-No worries... no worries. What's y-yours?" Clyde wasn't sure if Pinky was addressing himself. If it was, he wanted to sit out the book recommendations this time. He winces in the general direction of Nebula, thinking on that. He pushes his chair back from Nebula's line of sight halfway, brushing his back onto the wall.
Nebula can't resist a tiniest chuckle. Pinky, Clyde. You know. Like. The Ghosts... Whatever.
"The name's Jeremiah but most here call me Jerry. You don't strike me as a Clyde but I do suppose people get their names first and then everything else after. Real people at least, not fictional characters like the ones you're reading about. Sometimes I envy them."
Nebula sighs somewhat louder than necessary. She's very annoyed with the weather now and growing restless. "Clyde, what are you reading? Is it good? I don't think I can hope finding a second copy of it but there's probably more from the author here."
Jerry makes a motion to answer, but realizes that he'd be taking away possible conversation.
Clyde had thought about his name. It's not the name he would have chosen, no. The alternatives weren't any better to him, though, and he thought defining a unique image and name pairing was sort of the point to identity, in a sense. He nods at Jerry. He didn't envy being tasked to killing an anteater yet.
The chair scoots forward a bit again. Clyde forces a smile and closes the book so that the cover could face Nebula. "It's... It's about these young peasants in a medieval castle ground. They h-have to stop a big e-evil monster... It has a huge, thin tongue, like-a… Like a whole snake." He relaxes just a bit, submerged on some half of his idle thoughts in the fantasy. "It's pretty good."
Nebula gives a most subtle squint at the cover, to make out the author. She tries to play it off as a thoughtful expression though—what kind of secret organization murderperson doesn't have excellent vision, after all? It's one of her more self-conscious traits. "The name rings a bell, actually. Jerry, isn't that the guy who wrote 'The Corsair Cove'? What happened to the promised sequel of that, anyhow?"
Jerry tippytaps into his computer and laughs softly. "How unfortunate. It's already gone to print but it was delayed just enough to not make it in this week. I'll have it next week."
Nebula whines softly. It's a catlike noise which is appropriate to her, but it seems almost unnaturally soft to her nature, and she coughs slightly. She then leaves for the shelf which would have anything else by the same name. Jerry looks at her then at Clyde, a few times forth and back with a thoughtful look.
He might look into the Corsair Cove another time. For now, he had this book in his hands, although it was abundantly clear Nebula wanted some material by the author, and probably just this book really... So Clyde clears his throat when Jerry keeps looking at him, and eventually Clyde nods, closing his eyes at Jerry. He walks over with the prized story, at least prized to her. She probably needed it more than him, first of all, and even a selfishly-motivated person would want to be on her good side, right? Given everything preceding this, like running from a plate of pie.
Clyde scans the shelves beside Nebula briefly, and then he holds out the book to her and says, "Here y-you go... Y-you'll like it." It was assuring to know dangerous—or framed—people also had a taste for stories of wonder and unbridled hope.
Nebula is... Visibly startled, really. And then, heavily conflicted in some odd sense. She turns away, and takes a few deep breaths trying to recollect herself. It's not very successful though, and she sniffles softly.
She sits down on the floor, still facing away. Ears drooped down softly.
"I'm so sorry, for everything, really. You're far too kind. You... You deserve better than what these last two days have been."
She wipes her face on her sleeve. The voice is nothing like before. Jerry picks up on this too, and quickly comes over from the front desk. "Nessa, are you okay-" But she just makes a wavy hand motion at him. "It's fine. I think... Clyde is... Clyde is good. I believe in him. Maybe it's just the best if he knows."
Jerry seems to be in the business to object, but eventually just nods. "If you're sure."
Clyde's instincts override any lingering concern: he sits down with her, and lowers the book onto the ground as well. He takes a bit to sit because of the parka. He faces her, and she doesn't need to return that as he says, "Nebula? Nebula, w-what do you mean?.. Believe in m-me? I d-don't have to know... I f-forgive you, I'm sorry... I made you cry..." He expresses concern to Jerry, and not for himself. And is he getting a straight story, free of complicated truth and lie weaves and bobs? What will he know? He presses his pale, pink fingers against his cheeks.
She turns around, not enough to be facing him but enough to at least show some of her face.
"The first part of the story was true. I was involved in a car accident, killed someone with a very high profile criminal status through it. I spent fifteen months in jail over it. It wasn't a safe time, since naturally several associates were also inmates. And so, in self-defense, I created this reputation with the help of several people who took my side. It did wonders—people were suddenly hesitant to interfere. I was no longer just a misfortunate girl who had committed a terrible mistake.
Keeping that up for so long, of course, make it some amount of second nature. I escaped, but as you saw they've kept trying to find me on occasion ever since... And it was so natural to me to simply continue doing what I had learned from over a year of being committed to the part. Expanding on it. I didn't initially hope that an entire small village would come to believe it, that I'd be simply known as Nebula to most, the secret leader of the Astralyte assassins. But going back on it never seemed an option. The very idea of it feels like throwing my life away. And... People do still like me, even if I do end up strong arming myself into privileges I do not deserve. And it hurts when people take poorly to it, but. I'm just deeply selfish and want to stay alive. There are no Astralytes. I'm literally just a young adult girl of no greater importance. And there won't be a 'needless feud' that would erupt over my disappearing. It's all just for my own benefit."
By the end of her elaboration, she's sobbing into her knees. Jerry gets up and checks the weather outside, just to make sure the privacy is still guaranteed for the time being. He gives Clyde a quite distinct look. "She's a good girl though. Don't tell anyone. Please."
Clyde moves closer to Nebula on the hard, wooden ground they share. His mouth is ajar, his breathing slow. He puts his hand on her shoulder, and he squeezes it. Especially after her self-criticism, Clyde puts his free hand close to under his eyes, and he wipes under them as they saturate red. He doesn't collapse onto her or onto himself, however. He simply sits beside her, crying quietly with her, holding her. Clyde nods after Jerry speaks, catching a tear that managed to roll over his finger.
To live a lie about whom you are, and who you can be therefore, is something Clyde has seen in himself and in Ruedi... He's felt sick thinking especially about the latter. It's something, more than anything, he's mulled in his mind, imagining scenarios where he could level as a confident equal asking Ruedi why he had to fill the role of his parents and his grandparents... Clyde left home, from one emotional shackle to the next, and even that was progress. To be true to yourself, even in steps on a ladder, was progress. And Nebula's ladder was over a bed of snakes... He believed her, finally, with her bawling, Jerry's sympathy, and her transparent story.
Clyde says, with difficulty, "You're not selfish... You're not s-selfish. You're scared. Y-You are good..." He wonders if she can get away from her past. Somewhere far enough away. He's not sure. He wonders if it's safe to be tied to a lie like this. If he's, just as well, put her in more risk. "Nebula, I u-understand..."
Nebula whimpers softly, but the affection seems very welcome in the moment and she most instinctively shuffles closer, ears folded down pitifully. She is a cat, after all. "I am... I am scared. I always am. It's basically all my life revolves around these days. Making others scared of me so I can be less scared of them. And still somehow being nice enough, liked enough that they'll accept me." Her sleeve is thoroughly damp after she wipes her face with it. "Thank you... For listening... I'll probably regret this in some way or another but for now. That felt. Good, somehow. And... You say you understand. I don't know if you truly do but who would I be if I assumed other people don't have their own stories? I don't understand this world, I don't understand what it wants from people. All I can do is keep my own little corner of it vaguely in order."
Jerry has in all of these apparently been gone for a brief time, and a pack of tissues drops into Clyde's lap. He keeps looking out of the window, but the sight of the pervasive snowstorm is oddly comforting as it now keeps anyone else away from this scene unfolding.
"Y-You're more than just scared," Clyde says, grabbing a handful of tissues for Nebula and pressing them to her hand, intending her to grab on. And Clyde takes some for himself as well. He attempts to slow his breathing. He's shaky, but not scared.
"Like you're into c-comics and fantasy... You have hair that's like the s-stars." He pauses, and touches her hand completely with his fingers and the tissues. "I won't l-let you r-regret this." Nebula didn't need to believe he understood, but Clyde really believes he might... Enough, at least, for his soft and mushy voice to be heard. He hopes that he can be, in his stay in town, a source of comfort extended, and maybe a friend that lets Nebula be herself. Walling off from the world hurts his heart, anyone walling themselves off... "You also like sweets, like I-I do."
She looks at him, with a look of confusion as much as surprise. Her gentle sobs stop for just a moment. She doesn't understand. "I... Do. I'm really not sure what you mean, what you are trying to get at. But. I do suppose you're right. I am me, not just Nebula." She sighs, deeply, taking some of the tissues with her other hand and drying off her cheeks. She doesn't move away from his hand. "You can call me Vanessa. Vanessa Stone. We should go to the Café again when we get the chance. I owe you a slice of pie. I'm not sure when, though. I'm not... presentable."
Clyde nods, and he smiles for as long as he says, "I-I'd be happy to buy a whole pie w-with you soon, Vanessa. If y-you need to look tough that's—that's okay. You don't scare me n-no more." He holds her hand, then, staring at the bookshelves that tower in front of them. Scanning through the titles and authors' often yearlong or even lifelong projects. He sighs, too. Thinking once more about the inherit danger of hanging out with her, and how being with Ruedi is largely the same danger. Thinking that these friendships on business trips aren't destined to last, but "the spreading of the goodness of the heart" might.
Vanessa shifts, and stands up somewhat suddenly. She dusts off her pants, and tries to shake off her quite pity-inspiring look. "You're not scared of me... Hm. Hmm. Some pink and sweet and squishy guy being in buddypals with me after what transpired yesterday might raise some questions. I'll have to. Think about that." She walks off past Jerry, stretching her legs. She certainly has a lot on her mind, all of a sudden. She didn't even take the book Clyde had offered, not like she needs to cure herself of boredom in this moment.
"If there's anything I can help with, uh, do tell. That goes for both of you." Jerry rubs the back of his head awkwardly, then offers an arm to help Clyde up.
Clyde blinks as she stands so suddenly and calls him squishy and a buddypal. He rises from the floor with Jerry's arm and says, "Thank you, J-Jerry." And then Clyde walks behind Nebula, folding his hands in his lap, leaving the book for now. He keeps a healthy distance, much closer than a once scared Clyde but nothing beyond optimistically friendly. He stands beside the end of the bookshelf and teeters on his boots. His parka comes off as he's found himself quite warm, even overheated, and his turtleneck from the morning is visible once more.
Nessa sits down on the table, takes the hot chocolate and sips it. It's not warm any more, but it's still friendly and sweet. "Say, Clyde. You were here for business, you said? May I ask what manner of? I'm just... Curious. You seem to have a sense for treats and Xebox does especially offer handling of perishables and the likes." The copy of Crimefighter Frog slowly edges towards the edge of the table with each idle sweep of Nessa's tail brushing over it.
Clyde looks at his feet. He says, "My b-boss was hoping they'd be a d-distributor for his—his candy." He adjusts his turtleneck, seeing it's a bit crooked. He wishes he brought his pink tie out, actually. And maybe could change the subject. "I prefer s-sweets like the bakery o-ones."
"Oh! How delightful. Now that you mention it, working for a candy shop sounds extremely fitting of you. I do have a quite terrible sweet tooth, there's good reason I've managed to get my own table at the café. They seem to have had issues with the snow today... I hope that doesn't become a lasting issue, I don't know how I'd managed without. Maybe I'd have to hire you for my needs, hehe." She chuckles, amused. "What are your favorite—"
Thwap.
The comic book finally has slumped over the edge and fallen to the floor.
"Please treat our books nicely", Jerry chimes in in a very deadpan voice, clearly a trained response.
Clyde reaches down for the copy of Crimefighter Frog and flips through its pages to clear off dust or grime, and he then places it back onto the table. He nods to Jerry, as if acknowledging his fault in this somehow.
He smiles quietly to Nebula, and he says, "Y-Yeah. I... I work t-there... I also hope snow's not lasting." He flattens his hand on the comic cover. "I'm h-happy to bake for you—t-though this is supposedly m-my vacation. I haven't baked for anyone o-other than my boss in so—so long."
"Frogs that fight crime don't belong on the floor, apologies." Her tails swings over to the side and she gives it an almost judgmental look. "I envy cats with sleek tails on occasion. I won't deny mine is more majestic though."
Nebula is quite taken back by Clyde's offer though, but there's an unmistakable glint of excitement in her eyes at the idea. "I was... Not being serious, but. If you really do want to, we could do that. Together even, maybe. Phrasing it as a job was maybe not the right choice, it could certainly be fun just as much. If... If you like, of course."
The tail is extravagant. It reminds him of the wolf girl from the other year and her most fluffy orange tail. He eyes the tail and rubs his own shoulder. Then he shares Nebula's enthusiasm when the offer to share his baking passion is considered, and presses right up to the side of the table. "I-I'd want to! It's okay i-if you weren't serious b-but I really think you'll like what I can make—I c-can teach you too! It's always fun baking sweets."
Jerry seems largely amused by the developing scene, and turns to sort some unsorted books before he somehow ends up interrupting. Nessa ponders a bit, then admits. "I realize though that good baking probably needs ingredients of various kinds. I'd need a list of things we would require, so I can have them ready. I wouldn't want the talent to feel hindered in his craft. As for what we make, I'm not much picky so something that's good for teaching and not overly complicated would be good." She scoots off the table, and scans over the bookshelves. "I never actually considered if there's any cookbooks in here. I'll have to look some other time. It's just been so easy to buy sweet things instead."
"G-Got it, I can make us a list. I'll i-include necessary i-ingredients, less necessary o-ones—good for a few recipes. Shouldn't be too expensive... O-Oh, we'll stick to the... basics." Clyde moves away from the table as she does, and he walks up to Jerry and asks politely where he might have a pen and scratch paper. And, as soon as Clyde acquires these, he pins the paper against a flat pillar of the side of a bookshelf and writes bulleted entries in cursive. He says, "Cookbooks c-can be good. Sometimes I'd compare my—my recipes to the recipes of o-others. Sometimes I adopt d-differences to my own baking."
Nessa's perched on a chair, and seems rather occupied in thought as she leans over the back of it. "Now... Ugh. I still do have some practical concern with, you know, the big picture and all. But I think I know the solution. I will simply, invite you to the Astralytes, or at least mark you as honorary. With their mark, you'll be seen as an ally to me and gain the cautious respect of the citizens. It'll make sense to them why we're suddenly so amicable." She digs through her pockets and finally pulls out a small black marker. "Only if you would like to, though. It doesn't wash off easy, so it'd last you your stay and then some until you properly soap and scrub it."
Clyde's tongue makes a short appearance, pushed between his lips, toward the end of the ingredients when he's racking his mind for anything seemingly accessory that might be particularly nice... Cream cheese, they're going to want cream cheese for this. He hands Nessa his grocery list, and he points to a couple divided sections. "T-The top section is n-necessary, the bottom stuff—like vanilla e-extract here—expands our options..." He presents the back of his hand for the marker sluggishly, and he glances to Jerry and back to Nessa. "Will this w-won't get m-me in any t-trouble? I want to work with you baking a-and—we would hang o-out, but wouldn't I scare e-everyone a-around me so much?"
"I already got you in a decent amount of potential trouble or at least complication with our whole scene, so this will solve more things than cause more issues. Just be your friendly and sweet self, people will soften up past any concerns. I've set a standard for the Astralytes being no trouble if people don't cause any. You're not the first to join 'us' in this way." She takes Clyde's hand and carefully places some well-trained lines one by one on the back of it. "Oh, if it's on your mind then it's necessary. A craftsman needs his full range of tools to shine. No half measures."
Clyde tilts and examines the lines on his hand, an emblem of this make-believe cult. He nods and says, "I b-believe in you to know what's b-best for my s-safety, then. I'm glad I'm still able to t-talk to people, even if we're g-getting blasted by s-snow anyway, I think." He touches over his new markings with his other hand, and he walks toward the window. It's covered by snow, but the faint scream of the wind seems absent for now. "Thank you—so much—for your g-generosity, V-Vanessa. I could be paying you."
Jerry gives a proper look out the window, and frowns. "It might be slowly waning, but who knows how much effort it'd even be to get out once the downfall has stopped. I'll be shoveling a lot, this evening."
Nessa sighs, and puts her very special and fancy marker away. "It really isn't a problem, I owe you for, well. You know. Things. It'll be good, I am sure of it. Well... We'll probably be here for a bit more. We could just go back to reading to pass the time, if you wish. I suppose it's been a lot."
"I'm.. O-one to forgive. Y-You really do seem k-kind, and it'd b-be fun." He shows a smile again, and then he says looking into Vanessa's eyes, "Yeah. I l-lose energy when I—talk this much... P-Please tell me if you need anything. It's been e-eye-opening, a-and I'm excited." Even if the fantasy novel Clyde picked out earlier hadn't been properly taken up by Vanessa, he still moved on to the historical fiction novel he checked out. It's a story about a local American hero of a late civil rights movement. And he's back in the chair across the library.
"Thank you for.. Forgiving. And understanding. It was a very impulsive decision on my end today but I'm glad it worked out. And thank you for the book, I'll check it out." She finally picks the poor, forgotten object up from the floor and goes back to her seat as well.
More soon.