A passing look of subtle confusion swept across Clifford’s face while he listened to Sire fish for his words. “..Right. Well, sir-“ Clifford was cut off by Sire’s sudden question, and he hummed a small, inquisitive note.
“Recommendations? Of course, sir. I assume you’re in the market for a mystery novel. The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde tends to be my go-to when asked that question. If we’re including non-mysteries as well, I’d like to suggest The Picture of Dorian Gray, sir.” He drummed his fingers lightly against the books in his arms. “Does that answer your question?”
Sire nodded, keeping his composed demeanor prominent from outside. Though part of him wondered why Clifford acted like they were str—
Huh, Sire though to himself. I guess we are strangers.
For some reason, it hadn’t felt like it. And, if anything, Clifford seemed slightly… hostile. Had Sire done something? Did he say something wrong?
He subtily shook his head. He wasn’t normally like this— overthinking every little detail. But something about Clifford made Sire feel… almost vulnerable. The thought equally and simultaneously piqued his interest and terrified him.
“I’ve read The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but I’m not sure I’ve heard of the latter,” he replied, as if his mind was processing no thought at all. “Where might I find it?”
Truth be told, Clifford didn’t quite realize how aloof he came across. He was playing a role- someone who could deal with customers in a formal manner- and it was simply just not something he could easily switch in and out of. But another part of him still wanted to be incredibly guarded, not just cordial. After all, he only knew this man’s name and that he was interested in cryptids. Nothing else. And it was odd that, no matter how intimidating he looked, there was something strangely magnetic about this man. Sire.
But that wasn’t a topic that Clifford wanted to explore, especially not at work.
“Dorian Gray.. You should be able to find it in or around the horror section, sir.” Clifford shifted his weight from foot to foot. “The author is Oscar Wilde, if that aids you at all.” In his mind, Clifford knew that he should really be finding the book for Sire, not just directing him to it, but he had a fair bit of work to do already.
Sire gave a nod, letting a small smile tug on his face before turning around, beginning to walk to the said section.
“Thank you, sir,” he called over his shoulder. In reality, he had turned to hide his slight smile. He hadn’t known why it came, what it was there for, or how it managed to slip past his incredibly thick-built wall. But it did. And he didn’t like it.
Before letting out another word, Sire flew behind the bookshelves, beginning to search for the author.
What am I doing? he thought to himself. The smile had completely faded. This guy’s a stranger. I just need his help for a little while.
He shook his head as if that would jar his thoughts. Much surprise, it didn’t work.
“Oscar Wilde, Oscar Wilde…” he mumbled unconsciously to himself as his fingers skimmed the binds. He finally spotted it, took it from its stand, and flipped open a few pages. The parchment was worn, much like the cover, but the text was readable and carefully pressed.
And, upon the front, in quite extravagant writing, stood the words, The Picture of Dorian Gray.
(i'm sorry for that small gap! it may happen more, as i find myself needing to take time away from social media, etc- i'm not abandoning this, don't worry, i just need to take a break sometimes!)
Clifford's eye caught Sire's smile, and he quickly reigned in his thoughts before they could get away from him. He quickly turned away, back to his shelf, resuming his task of restocking books. Once he had finished that armful he gathered another, checking up on a few other customers.
"Good morning, Mister Leaby. Did you find what you were looking for?" Clifford inquired, looking at the young man standing in front of him. He was shorter than Clifford was, possibly younger as well, and seemingly trying to decide between the two books in his hands. The other man nodded silently, only looking in Clifford's general direction. "…Right. Don't be afraid to give me any inquiries you may have."
He couldn't seem to stop thinking about Sire's request. He rolled it over in his mind like a ball in the hands. Cryptid hunting. What could he possibly need to do that for? Clifford finished up his task, glancing bak around the store to possibly catch a glimpse of Mr McLinnen.
(Sorry that took so long! And don’t worry about small breaks— I have them too. Sometimes… longer than I mean them to be.)
Sire was planning on just simply buying the book and leaving, not necessarily reading it any time soon. However, as his pale fingers skimmed the bleached parchment pages, he found the black print words engraved in his mind. He stood there, absorbing the comfortable feel of the bookstore, and the carefully worded literature of the book in his hand. It was quite elegantly written, he would say. But, that was low by even Sire’s standards— he hadn’t read much.
Still, he was completely engulfed by the book the second he had opened the first couple pages. It was truly hooking, to say the least. The entire concept, at that. The character interactions between Lord Henry Wotton and Basil Hallward— the young handsome man, Dorian— the book in its entirety. It would be one Sire liked, he could tell already. Although, he couldn’t say he agreed with the hedonistic view of Wotton, or the wishes of Mr. Gray, it was entertaining nonetheless.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, his black hair falling into his bright blue eyes, stroking it aside with a light thin hand. He took calm breaths, feeling more at peace than he had felt in a long, long while. It wasn’t until he caught Clifford’s eye that his heart sped, but he roped it back into submission the second he averted his eyes once more, having them scan over the printed words instead.
(I understand totally! I just remembered to log back on after some stuff took a nosedive, so don’t worry about it!)
Clifford stepped right outside of Sire’s “bubble”, so to speak. He glanced down at the book, then back up at Sire, and then back down at the book. “Mr McLinnen, I’m afraid I can’t have you reading the book before you purchase it. Otherwise I may as well not be running a bookstore.” There was a slight teasing edge to his voice, whether or not he noticed (and he must not have, because Clifford wouldn’t be caught dead speaking to anyone- especially not a man- in this manner).
His arms were free of the stacked books, instead draped behind his back with his hands clasped. Standing this close, even if it wasn’t that close, Clifford caught Sire’s incredibly striking features. Features he hadn’t noticed before: his sparklingly blue eyes, his raven hair. Clifford felt semi-disgusted with himself for even pointing these things out to himself. In his mind, he knew that what he was noticing was.. well, wrong. Clifford forced his gaze back down to the novel in Sire’s hands, fixing his posture to be as professional as he could muster.
Sire looked down at Clifford, the gesture somewhat forced as he pried his eyes from the book. Truth was, he hadn’t thought it through that far. He had simply been caught in the book, willing to buy it whether he read the whole thing or not.
“Oh, my apologies, sir,” he mumbled. His face held little true expression, yet his eyes seemed like a puppy who had just been told “no.” Quickly regaining himself, they turned back to the ice they had previously been. “I just got… hooked. It’s quite the interesting read already.”
Shutting the book with one hand, he slipped the other into his dark coat pocket. Light pooled in from the windows, his cold eyes glinting as he looked over Clifford. He had already been true to himself with his thoughts on this man, so no revisiting of any potential inkling was necessary for the sake of his mind.
He gave a polite smile, letting the arm holding the book rest limp by his side. “I’ll take it, then. How much for it?”
In all truthfulness, having Sire look down on him like that made Clifford feel a little ridiculous. Maybe a little nervous. After all, even in the morning light, even with how beautiful the day was, Sire was threatening. He was taller than Clifford, and just the contrast of his pale skin against his dark hair, he almost looked ghostly.
Clifford nodded, trying to ignore that puppyish look in his eyes. He wasn't that threatening with those eyes, even once they hardened back into ice. That look would've made a stray dog jealous. "It is, isn't it? It's one of my favorite novels." He smiled softly. Clifford looked at the book, then at the shelf it came from, then back up at Sire.
He took a step back. "I can take your money up front, but not here." Clifford looked at Sire expectantly, his head tilted. His expression was unreadable, but it didn't look too negative. Simply slightly cold. Clearly he had fixed that professional, maybe somewhat standoffish facade. He did, however, return Sire's smile. "Two shillings, sir."
Noting the man’s step back, Sire stayed put. Almost ungodly still— a thing he was sometimes too good at it scared people. Part of him wished it didn’t. Part of him wished he didn’t scare people in general. Yet, that was the only thing he knew how to do. But… he got information when he needed it in quite the different way. Not that he was a romancer, but some told him he had a way with those words.
“Of course,” he said, his deep voice holding no rasp at all. He took his other hand out of his pocket, in the palm of it resting the two silver coins. He let the hand rest by his side like the other, standing there like a post and awaiting Clifford to lead him to the front counter.
Sire understood now. Simply professional, he was. The distant demeanor was nothing of Sire’s own effect. Possibly. He couldn’t be too sure, his mind still trying to understand the man in front of him. His own smile faded, beginning to hold up that cool and calm stationary expression once more.
“Shall we?” he asked quietly, his limp hand stroking the frayed binding of the book.
In Clifford's eyes, Sire was ridiculously still. To the point where it unnerved Clifford. And yet. And yet, he wasn't scared. He wasn't sure if the proper word was fascinated, but it was the same type of feeling you got when you were at the zoo and you saw a bear or a lion. You were fully aware that it could, and might, kill you- but all the same, you couldn't help but be drawn in, fascinated by it. Clifford fancied himself rather good at reading people, and he'd be damned if he didn't try with Sire.
"Ah- right, sorry. After me, please." Clifford began to walk in the direction of the clerk's desk, having to pause a few times along to way to (regrettably) postpone helping some of their more elderly regulars. Lots of small apologies. Once they had finally wormed their way up to the cash register, Clifford managed to weave through the large stacks of unsorted books to get behind the desk.
"Alright, sir. My apologies for taking so long to get here. Like I said, two shillings, please." He held out his hand to receive the money.
Sire did as asked, handing over the two cold silver coins. Possibly too cold for being held in a human hand, but the man always ran colder than most.
His hand held steady as he handed the coins, his fingers brushing gently against Clifford’s palm. He was much warmer, Sire had to admit the change in temperature sent a shiver up his arm. He ceased to flinch or show it at all, just slipping his hand back into his pocket.
His other hand kept stroking the binding of the book, a pale finger fiddling with the fray. His eyes wandered to the window on his left, noting the sun’s ascent higher in the sky. The dew had risen from the ground, just the plain dry cobblestone there to reflect the bright day. Few clouds dotted the sky, giving him the impression that either later this evening or tomorrow a larger storm would be on it’s way. But he didn’t mind— at least he had a place to stay now. Unlike before, where he had to take some… interesting actions to stay in an actual building.
Sire blinked his eyes, bringing himself back to the present. He broke his gaze over to meet Clifford, waiting for him to give the affirmation he was okay to keep reading.
Clifford flinched slightly at how cold the shillings were in his hand. He opened the register, dropping the coins in with a few metallic clinks. His own hands were decidedly much more shaky than Sire's.
"Err- sir?" Clifford waved his hand slightly to get Sire's attention. The man looked zoned out. Distant. "Sir, are you alright?" He shut the cash register, stepping out from behind the counter once Sire had looked over. "You.. can read the book now. You've already paid for it."
Clifford looked up at him for a moment, then turned and picked up a few books to put away. After all, the quicker those stacks shrunk are were sorted out, the better.
Sire gave a slight nod.
“My apologies. Just caught in the nice day,” he muttered, more to himself than to Clifford.
He turned, holding the book tightly in his hand and walking to the door just paces away. Did he know where his next destination was? Unlikely.
He paused for a second before looking back to the other man.
“Thank you, sir,” he called back, although his voice seeming stayed the same fluctuation, calm and drifting through the air. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Have a nice morning.”
Without another word, or before another could be spoken, Sire slipped out the door and began his trek down the street. Maybe he’d go back to his newly bought apartment. Or possibly another shop. It would all be where the road would take him, or whichever showed first.
"It's alright, sir." Clifford responded primly. He nodded, stepping away from Sire. He watched him walk off, slightly zoned out, snapped back into reality only by Sire's goodbye. He jumped slightly, his face went slightly pink as he realized he looked like he was staring, and only managed to wave slightly and return the goodbye before ducking his head and getting back to work.
There was a sort of confusion knotted up in the pit of his stomach as he waited to get off of work. On one hand, he was being offered the chance to talk about cryptids on a silver platter. From someone who seemingly wouldn't ridicule him over it either. Hopefully. But on the other hand, this man felt increasingly stranger and stranger. He was freezing, almost scarily still, and his appearances were striking to the point of being odd. Strangely alluring, sure, but odd.
Clifford distracted himself with conversations. He spoke to the customers like normal, got caught up on their lives like he was interested, and whatever else he needed to do. And then, thank god, his colleague was there to take over the shift once the end up his own had finally arrived.
Clifford left the bookstore after saying a fast goodbye to Mr. Kipling, walking briskly out of the cramped store and back to his apartment.
(So sorry for the long time off! I took a while for homework and work and all that jazz. Would you like to keep continuing this on? Personally, I would. It’s up to you, and then I’ll get up a reply :)
(i'd like to keep this going, yeah! and don't worry about taking time off, i totally get ti!)
The city was much calmer today. Sire thanked the lands for it— the sun shining through the bits and pieces of clouds drifting overhead. He had stood outside longer than he intended, watching carelessly as the distant circle of gold climbed higher and higher into the sea of blue before leveling out and taking post at the middle. Midday was a wonderful time, Sire’s skin actually able to feel the heat if he rolled up a short sleeve.
He had lost his overcoat a while ago, carrying it around a sturdy arm pinched to his side. In his other hand was the opened book of Dorian Grey, although he had refused to read more of it. He had to make it last, at least.
Sire slowly tucked it within his other arm, using his now free hand to rub at his tired and darkened eyes. His hair fell into them as he angled his head, and although he brushed it back again, some strands still fell back.
His pristine white shirt looked so stark in contrast to his black suspenders and darker pinstripe slacks. Especially with the sun beating off of it, the clouds moving as to expose him even more.
Although, he didn’t mind the sun at all. In fact, he really liked it. It was the moon that he despised with every fiber of his being.
Shaking his head, he pushed himself from his spot along the wall, beginning to walk back to where he had originally been going. Previously he had gotten distracted with such a nice day— it was rare he just stopped someplace and enjoyed it. But he was in some kind of mood today.
(I hate that I forgot about this! I thought I replied but I guess I may have just forgotten to click post, smh. Hopefully we can continue this— and sorry for this rollercoaster I’m bringing you on)
(i'm so sorry i was MIA for so long! i guess i crashed & was really burnt out for a while, evidently. i'm gonna try to be active again, & hopefully school doesn't cause it to happen again. and yeah! i'd love to pick this back up! i don't mind the rollercoaster, i actually really like this RP lmao. i'll get my repsonse up soon!)
Clifford adjusted his overcoat, ignoring the prickling heat on his back as he walked. He would've taken it off if he didn't feel almost naked without it. It felt almost like a second skin to Clifford when he left the house. His thin arms were pinned to his side as he walked through the streets, avoiding eye contact and words with anyone who looked his way.
Not that this was an unusual sight for those familiar with Clifford. He was known to be a bit icy on his commutes to and fro (and in general). He passed by Sire, and glanced at him momentarily, though said nothing and continued his trek home. Nervous anticipation for that afternoon left Clifford's stomach in knots. He was absolutely chomping at the bit to have a real conversation on his research and his town's strange occurrences. Sure, the specifics of what their conversation would be were still blurry, but that was to be expected.
Clifford opened the gate to his apartment building, slipping inside and up the stairs to his own home. He tugged off his overcoat and crashed onto his bed, the jacket barely draped over a nearby chair. Clifford threw an arm over his eyes, flinching slightly when his cat leapt up onto the bed beside him.
(sorry this is so short & so late, i wasn't exactly sure what i wanted to do w/ it!)
