currently recovering
from a hiatus.
Though her own persona which dwindled upon the remnants of her own thoughts as she chose that moment to wander almost aimlessly. Books were a tragic creation in which their writers chose that moment to etch thoughts and desires upon pages in which their own thoughts inevitably consumed them and only pinpointed and written within the duration of their own reality.
There was a visible pause as black cladded pumps now stood to a standstill, the owner of the very Louboutin’s paused to linger upon a series of books that stood in silence, seeking to be purchased.
Inhale.
Delicate digits that curved upon the very spine as the blade ran across the newly designed paperback cover, pausing once more before those dark obsidian orbs pulled away – along with her attention to the sound of an unrecognized baritone voice that echoed in her own ears.
/“Welcome.”/
As simple as a welcome was and perhaps in his nature something that now became of a custom to those who worked in retail; questioning and almost amused to the very manner in response to such a mundane and monotone.
Exhale.
Air that expelled through ruby red tiers and later brushed the lock of hair behind her ear with her free hand; cocking her head in one direction; eyes officially peeling away from the cursive script of the title before those emotionless features shifted in response.
“Ah, thank you.” A reply so simply as she acknowledged the coffee bearer. His very features recognized by her own memory and new found amusement. – yet visibly she was still quite stoic and calm.
Her own calm mannerism ever so evident in her cool response; she truly was very impassive.
“I have a question, good shop keeper.” Her voice quiet, though audible amidst her state of mind. “What would you recommend a politician? Perhaps a dictator? Something not of a best seller and something known to some I’d hope. Anything… interesting?”
Though her voice was audible, the sound itself that refused to match her own vocals. Scratchy and hoarse though her elegant features refused to suit such a songstress; she was the sea witch after all.
He could faintly remember having seen her face somewhere and somehow, but where? The Fable couldn’t really say. Instead, as she seemed to have her attention elsewhere, he sat down on his chair waiting for her to approach him. If even at all.
Then again, Won Bin was far from the perfect merchant. He had little to speak of in terms of social skills and he wasn’t a people’s person at all. Yet he managed to keep the book shop up and running, something to him as well sometimes seemed as a miracle.
“Ah, thank you.”
He nodded in response and picked up his cup of coffee. And at first he was sure she wouldn’t ask anything further. Or perhaps that was the only thing he had managed to read off her face, although wrongly. But so be it, he was after all a worker under the customer service, supposedly. As she called out to him, in a voice that did not match her looks in the slightest, he couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow.
“A politician or dictator?”, he paused, allowing the thought to be mauled over in his mind for a bit. Indeed what would one recommend to someone with only knowing the fact that the person was a person of powers, so to say. “That highly depends on the person.” He began and took a sip of his coffee. “I can think of several, one being The Grapes of Wrath.” He set down his cup of coffee and folded his hands together as he leaned over his wooden counter.
“Are you thinking of something in particular or are you simply curious?” he asked plainly, taking this time to look once more over her visage. Had become a tad senile or did he simply just not know who she was? Probably the latter he figured and awaited her answer, there wasn’t anything in particular to do besides such.
