2019-07-14 - Pick Your Pedophile

In a town built of horror and nightmares, the Gray Harbor Public Library is a relative sanctuary. Once you pass through the double glass doors, think of the space inside as mainly the ground level with some hints at special and rare collections upstairs by appointment. There's a door that says 'Staff Only' that looks as if it leads to a stairway to a possible basement. Circulation desk in the front center about fifteen paces in from the double front doors. Non-fiction via Dewey Decimal along the right wall. Fiction by genre and author in rows of tall shelves in the near-center, 'the stacks'. Dismally old computers along the back wall of the room. A noteworthy section just in front of the Non-Fiction entitled 'LOCAL' that sports both historical and informational books about Gray Harbor as well as books by local authors of the past and present. Childrens' and YA books to the left. And periodicals between that section and the front entrance. The place is a juxtaposition of old and new. Old: A slightly musty smell likely from the age of the building and the frequent rain, the 1970s colors and aged decor. New: a bright, open, and cheery air to the place, fliers on the corkboards by the front doors that announce all sorts of community activities and an upcoming Summer Read-In for kids ages 10-18. Comfortable, padded, reading chairs are interspersed amongst the more traditional chairs and tables spread around the entire place.

And then there's Harper. Not every weekend will a person find her here. She's the Lead Librarian, but doesn't boast the title. And she rotates weekends with two or three assistant and part-time librarians. Right now, she's crouched down modestly in her dress, in the children's section beside a little boy about first grade-aged and holding an open picture book, talking seriously with him about it. Harper is clearly in her element here, a sympatico with the place that makes her almost feel a part of it, or it an extension of her. (outfit but not pb: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/493073859203958537/ ) She continues to converse with the child with a glimpse now and then to make sure no one is waiting for her at the circulation desk with questions, books to check out, or other potential library visit needs. Now she's laughing, pointing to something on the next page and asking the boy a question about it. She looks as if the world has stopped turning for how much attention she gives the child in anticipation of his answer. "Of course he does. I think you're right. I never noticed the pockets in his overalls before. What a brilliant little man you are." Her smile positively illuminates her face, and the boy speeds up his description of the character's motivations in his imagination.

Sundays are ... slow, at best. Especially when you're brand new in town, don't have any friends, and haven't figured out what there is to DO in town. But ANYTHING outside is better than sitting in your apartment, flipping through channels. So Tyrone has gone outside. Into the rain. Why did he choose the Pacific Northwest again? Aww well. What's a little rain to a combat marine?
The bus downtown drops him off in front of the library, and, being the nearest structure with an obstruction for the obnoxious falling water, Tyrone makes his way inside. It takes him a few seconds to get his umbrella out from behind him so he can shake it off in the entry-way and close it. He then hangs it from the bar on the back of his wheelchair. There's an unusual sound of wet rubber rubbing on carpet as he spins his wheels in place to try and get at least a little of the water off, before he heads inside to look around. So THIS is what a library looks like!

Tyrone is busy enough with his post arrival activities that he likely doesn't see the Librarian glance toward the entrance, alert to comings and goings in Her Library, before she pats the child on the shoulder and points out a shelf of similar books to the one he's holding. His father is over in the non-fiction area. Harper was pleased to give the child something to gravitate toward in a building of imposing books. She pushes up from her crouch and strides at an easy pace toward Tyrone, likely not meeting him until he's nearly in the main area of the library. Her name badge hangs on a lanyard from her neck down nearly to the slim belt she wears over cardigan and dress. "Good afternoon. I'm Harper Price, Librarian-at-Large. I think you're a new face, and I love meeting new faces." She looks Tyrone over. "Along with their people." Is she teasing? She doesn't appear condescending as some people can when they loom over a wheelchair. She offers a hand for a handshake. "And you are?" A little forward for the Librarian to question the patrons, but then Harper isn't a typical Librarian by any means.

Tyrone had been busy scanning the interior of the library, but the clicking of footsteps approaching brought his attention immediately to Harper. He blinks and quirks an eyebrow, as it's rather apparent she's walking towards HIM. But, when she introduces herself as the librarian, the confusion is quickly replaced with revelation, followed by a pleasant enough smile. He doesn't return the handshake, though, instead offering a closed fist- rain + tires = very messy hands. "Hi. I'm Tyrone," he responds. "Y'all must keep real close tabs on who grew up around here. I never thought being in a wheelchair would make me," a pause, "stand out." His smirk ought to make it obvious that he's making a joke, and he watches Harper for her reaction.

Harper actually easily closes her fist and bumps Ty back, her brown eyes sparkling brightly as she does so. Whether or not she realizes why he does such a gentlemanly thing isn't apparent. "Tyrone. It's a pleasure to meet you. Are you new in Gray Harbor, or have I just been that unlucky?" Harper takes a step back to a table and pulls out a chair and seats herself upon it. From this spot nearer to the entrance, she can easily keep an eye on both the front entrance and the circulation desk no more than a dozen feet behind where she's now seated. She slowly crosses one leg over the other and smooths her palms over the skirt of her dress. "Oh, I do. You grow up in a town of this size and you get used to knowing just about everyone. And given --" She waves a hand around to indicate the library expansively, "-- my role, I like to know people, what they like, why they chose Gray Harbor." She leans forward, resting an elbow atop her knee as if to confide, "In small towns you'll find everyone is in your business. Or perhaps you knew that already. Why, I'd wager most of downtown is aware you decided to visit My Library." A curve of a smile touches at the corners of her lips. She tips her head ever so slightly as he speaks about being in a wheelchair and what that caused. Then her laughter trips around the open space of the library, not loud but neither hushed. She apparently isn't one for the traditional shushing that occurs in such places. Or at least not right at this moment. "So, what brings you here?" To the town, to the library. "And I take it the wheelchair is something new, then?" Not afraid to ask the personal questions, Harper. She speaks them as if she were asking someone how their day was going or what the weather is like.

When Harper pulls out a seat for herself, Tyrone moves a little out of the direct flow of traffic and then resituates in his chair, since this will apparently be 'a chat.' Which he seems amenable to. "You know, I dunno if I'd say you've been unlucky, regardless. But, yeah, I'm new here. This is, actually, my first Sunday as a resident of Gray Harbor," he explains. He looks around the library, then smirks again. "First time in a public library, too. Outside of school, I mean. But I dunno if that many people woulda seen me come in here. Your door ain't that far from the bus stop, which is why this is where I came first. It's raining outside," he says, gesturing with his thumb towards the door. You know, in case Harper hadn't noticed or something. "As far as why I chose Gray Harbor- combat buddy of mine came here after HE finished rehab up in Seattle. Said I would like it." He looks around again, then shrugs. "Haven't decided if he was right, yet, though. People keep trying to tell me he wasn't."

"Well let me be among the first to welcome you to our unusual town, Tyrone. I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you came to visit My Library so soon after arriving." And she seems sincerely delighted, not playing at some game. She simply shakes her head in disagreement when he argues her relative luck. "What?" She lifts the arm that rested across her knee to press a palm to her chest. "Say it isn't so, Tyrone. Your first time? With me?" Oh those golden brown, sparkling eyes. Is she too friendly to be flirting, or is she flirting in the face of being friendly? Some people wonder upon meeting her if she can possibly be for real. It wouldn't be the first time. "The rain brings the most glorious gifts, sometimes." Sometimes it brings the minions of another hell. "Do you enjoy reading? Do you prefer magazines? We have movies to check out and music. There are computers in the back," she waves a hand toward the back wall while still keeping the other hand flat against her chest. "They will kill you slowly and with much malice, given their soul-sucking slowness." She shakes her head slowly, regretfully. "But the wifi is better." Interesting. Slow computers, fast wifi. Then Tyrone is telling her why Gray Harbor. She quiets and listens, dropping her hand once again to rest that forearm atop her knee, leaning in as if the story might make her day. "Your buddy, does he still live here?" He said Tyrone would like it? Harper's eyes widen for a brief moment before she's tipping a smile at the vet again. "If you're used to bigger city life, it will take some getting used to, I fear." Harper's brows tip faintly, briefly up. "People keep telling you he wasn't which?" Is there any Glimmer to the man in the chair?

Tyrone smirks at Harper's non-flirting-flirt. The way he licks his bottom lip and then bites it, one might think he was about to respond and thought better of it. The comment on the rain brings a shrug, though, as he looks back outside at it for a moment before turning back. "Rain is rain, ma'am. Falls on everybody. At least it's warm outside. Being wet AND cold is much less pleasant."
Then Harper's asking about reading, and Tyrone shrugs again. "Reading's okay. I did a LOT of it while I was laid up in the field hospital. Not a lot of accommodations in Afghanistan. Not really sure what to spend my time on, now. This is the first time in like four years where I've actually had more free time than I've known what to do with. And I've got my own laptop, but they haven't hooked up internet at my apartment yet, so I've just been using my cell as a hotspot. Can I bring it here if I need to?"
And then they're back on the topic of the town. The commment on the size makes him chuckle a little. "Oh, I've had plenty of big-city life, ma'am" Tyrone says. "Grew up in the inner-city. Then went to war in Afghanistan. Between not being able to reach my arm out without touching another person, to nothing but dirt and rocks as far as I can see? Gray Harbor is just about perfect. Space-wise, anyway. Which is why my buddy suggested it. And yeah, I THINK he's still here. I've got his address but not his phone number, so we haven't met up yet." Then, he furrows his brow a little. "Can I ask you a question, ma'am? About the town. Or, maybe about some of the people in it. Maybe you'd know."

Harper seems to watch just about every detail that she can soak in about Tyrone. "You know, it's rather thrilling to be called ma'am by a Marine, but you can call me Harper. Most do." The very Marine-esque way the man speaks about the rain, about the weather only tugs a bit more at her attention. "Any favorites?" she asks of his reading while in hospital. Then she pushes in again, asking the questions most people would shy away from. "What put you in the chair, Tyrone?" She nods. "Computers have some entertainment value. But I think being outside is an excellent choice. Rain or no," she smiles at that. She gives him the code to the library wifi. "It doesn't work much farther away than the parking outside, but it's better than relying on a hotspot, especially if you're paying by the minute. Of course you can bring it here. We have quite a few regulars here, given as there aren't any Starbucks in town." That tipping smile once again. "You've had quite a breadth of experiences in your young life, Tyrone. You should write a book." She seems to sincerely mean that. "I would read it." Then he's saying how Gray Harbor is perfect and she tips her gaze to the side, looking at nothing obvious, distracted a moment. Back to Tyrone. "I'm surprised you've been here a few days and haven't gotten in touch. Would he be someone I know?" Harper knows lots of people, but most of them are people who have grown up in Gray Harbor. Not all. "Where are you staying?" But then Tyrone inquires about asking her a question. She lifts her chin as if mustering all her attention to the matter at hand. "Maybe I would," she agrees. "It sounds like a serious question."

"Agh, sorry," Tyrone apologizes about the name-calling. "So used to using sir or ma'am as punctuation. Even in the hospital, so many officers around, better just to be safe than sorry. And nobody stops you, anyway, so. Hard habit to break. I'm sorry, /Harper/," he says, trying to force the name into his lexicon in place of the usual utterance. "As far as that goes, though, my unit got ambushed while trying to defend some engineer's working on a bridge. I got hit in the back trying to pull one of the engineers out of the line of fire. Lucky shot, hit me right below my back plate, right in the spine. Bang, no more legs." And, while he may not SOUND very bitter, there is a tenseness in his jaw and an ember in his eyes that betrays his feelings. Obviously, there is probably a lot more there than meets the eye. "But! I got cleared of PTSD, so I'm safe to be out on my own around normal people. Or, at least they're not worried I'm dangerous to y'all. At least not any more dangerous than any other marine." And this time, it's Tyrone's turn to not-flirt, as he winks about the last comment.
At the suggestion that he should write a novel, Tyrone scoffs and shakes his head. "No, ma'am. No way. They tried to get me to keep a journal in the hospital and I hated even doing that. Reading is okay. Writing is a hassle." He shrugs a little. "Besides. My story really isn't that much different than a lot of the guys over there. I think it's probably pretty common throughout the Corps. You could read any novel about being a marine and substitute one of us and it'd still be the same story."
Asking about his friend again, Tyrone just raises his shoulders. "It's only been a week. I didn't know what day I was being released and when you're released, it's more like you're ejected, so I sent him a letter he probably didn't get til a couple days ago. But, I left him MY address, so we'll hook up one of these days." Tyrone gives Harper his address, which is in a decent apartment complex near the bus lines. "VA helped me make the arrangements. That's at least one thing they get right- they're pretty good about getting combat wounded vets set up. I hear nothing but horror stories about down the line, though." And then, it's back to the question about the town. "Well, that's just it, ma'a- ... er, Harper. I don't know how serious it is. It's kinda crazy. Easton was saying this place was nice and quiet and slow. But, the first two people I met when I got here- while they was both plenty friendly- they both was saying that this place ISN'T a good place to live. But, if it isn't so great, how come y'all stick around?"

Harper smiles at the effort made to use her name, brown eyes warm and interested. She casts a glance slowly over the man in the chair as he tells his story, but there is, perhaps blessedly, no pity in her gaze which heads back up to Tyrone's face. "For the long run, or are there any chances of regaining use?" She really does dig, does Harper. An easy way to get brushed aside or even snapped at. But the woman's boundaries are not what most folks consider to be such. "Thank you for trying to help the engineers," she adds softly. Not 'thank you for your service'. An appreciation for the sacrifice the young man made in service to country and other human beings. "You don't strike me as a man who will ever be not dangerous." Though that sounds like a compliment from Harper, rather than the insult it might be heard as. Then he's making the statements about 'any other Marine', and her brown eyes dance at the way their conversation was complementary.

"You don't have to write, to write," she counters. "Dictation..." She trails off. "You say that your story isn't different. People read to find themselves in stories. And so many people haven't had the experiences you've had, could benefit from the wisdom and hardship. The nobility of what you chose to do." Harper is incredibly sincere. But she also looks like him changing the subject will be an acceptable matter.

"Ejected," she echoes. And she nods, seeming to know places by the addresses in this small town. She doesn't press him about horror stories down the line, preferring to keep him, at least for now, in the present time. There's a roll of laughter in her throat, soft and fleeting, when he struggles at her name. "And you're asking me..." she prompts, as if she wants a more specific question than that.

"Nah. Spinal cord injury was complete. I can't use 'em at all," Tyrone says, grabbing his legs just above his knees and giving them a little shake. "I still get muscle spasms and stuff, but I can't feel anything. But! You never know. They're doing all that stem cell research and trying electronics and stuff. Maybe in my lifetime." Though, from the way he says it, one wouldn't believe he's truly hopeful.
"You're a librarian, Harper. Of course you want there to be more books," Tyrone points out, smirking. "But I don't believe anybody's interested in MY story. I think you should only tell your story if you've got something to say, and I don't," he finishes with a shrug. "But, if anybody ever asks you if you know any war stories, you can point them my direction. I finished one tour and was on special detail when I got shot, so. I could probably answer questions or something." And then they're back on the subject of the town and Tyrone shifts in his seat again. "Well, if, from everything you know about folks around here and stuff ... do YOU think I should stick around? Is it a good place where I can spend a few years and try and figure out what the heck I'm gonna do with the rest of my life as a cripple."

Harper listens to the description of the severity and prognosis of the injury, then draws in a slow breath and releases it. "You never know," she agrees softly, still not pityingly. Why yes, Yes, Harper is a Librarian. They clearly agree on this fact. She dips her chin agreeably, "Always more. There will never be enough," she attests. "You don't believe anyone's interested in it because maybe you're not interested in it. And that's okay. I'm not here to shove you into publication." Even if it seemed that way for a bit. She allows Tyrone the final word on what he wants to do and not to do. "Special detail sounds dangerous and interesting." Can she not help herself? Ah, the inquisitive Librarian is inquisitive. Now and then she skims a gaze over the library at large to see if anyone looks in need of assistance or is looking for her. Her badge hangs around her neck on a lanyard that hangs nearly to the thin belt at her waist. A pair of black reading glasses are tucked into the breast pocket of her sweater. "And if I want war stories?" She then clarifies. "From someone who would enjoy sharing them?" Then, what?

Gray Harbor. "It's hard for me to make that call for you," Harper begins. "We all are masters of some measure of our own fate, don't you think?" Only after he answers that is she likely to continue. "Gray Harbor is a strange, sometimes horrific, complicated town. And those of us who have spent our lives here have grown accustomed to a larger crime and fatality rate than most larger cities. You have to be careful. Choose your path and your associates wisely, I'd say." She holds his gaze with a level one of her own. "Not unlike your experience in the military. If anything, you may be more equipped to live in a place like Gray Harbor than most who end up here for no particular reason." She cringes at the word 'cripple', clearly wanting to correct him, to argue his word choice. But she doesn't; her shoulders just tighten perceptibly. "Now if you want sunshine and happiness, there are far better places to live. I hear Orlando is nice." Her smile is playful once more after all that seriousness.

"Oh, it SOUNDS dangerous and interesting, sure," Tyrone says, rolling his eyes. He chuckles a little. "But that's like a lot of stuff with the military. How it sounds is, almost without fail, is never as interesting as it really is. The 'special detail' I was assigned to was to guard an Army Corps of Engeineers detachment to fix a brdige. The only reason we were attached is because of some increased activity in the area. Unfortunately, our intel was only part right, that's how we got ambushed. That was the only fight in the whole mission. One in a hundred."
At the suggestion tat they're all masters of their own fate, Tyrone openly laughs. "You know? Most people wouldn't have the balls to say that to a Marine fresh outta the hospital with a life-changing injury," he points out. He smiles, though, and holds out his fist towards Harper again. "Good for you, Miss Harper the Librarian. Good for you." And then, just moments later, she cringes at the word cripple? Humans are strange. He listens to her explain a little about the town and hrms. His head totters from one side to the other as he thinks about it. "Well. I guess I won't go running for the hills, yet. I mean, if there's all that going on, maybe I'll find something I CAN do, here. I guess I ought to try and make a difference, somehow. Put what I've got to use, somehow."

Harper listens to what he does and what he will tell her about his experience, her eyes slightly, leaning even more forward over that knee her forearm rests upon, as if he were actually whispering the story. "One in a hundred. One in a hundred, Tyrone --" Harper echoes. Not once but twice. "I think that sums up in a nutshell how I'd describe Gray Harbor. It's a one-in-a-hundred kind of town." The lack of sufficient and correct intel drops her shoulders as if she were actually watching a thrilling movie about what he describes and it gets to the tragic part.

Tyrone's laughter startles Harper out of her distracted muse and then she tips a smile back at him in return. She doesn't point out that she said playing a 'part' rather than 'in full control of'. If anyone believes in fate, it is Harper, and she's lived the rusty-bladed edge of it for nearly her entire life. One wouldn't know it from her demeanor, however. It'd be easy to pigeon-hole her as a Pollyanna who only sees good and is the eternal optimist. Except for the few words she so forthrightly shared about her opinion of the town earlier. She has to sit back a little not to be resting on her hand enough to lift it and give the man another invited fist-bump. If he's mocking her, she's either oblivious or impervious to it. "I'm certain there is plenty you can do here, Tyrone. Would you like me to set you up with a library card while we're at it?" She looks at him expectantly, though she doesn't move yet in the case that he's not willing to make such a commitment just yet to the civil records of the town. "I think you have a Marine's spirit, and a nobility that more folks could afford to add a taste of in their lives," she answers, unbidden.

"Ohhhhhhh man. A library card? I don't know, ma'am! This is only my first time here, do you think I'm ready for that level of commitment?" Tyrone jokes, smiling. "Sure. Couldn't hurt. At least it'll make it official if I come over to borrow your wifi some time." He rolls backwards a little, giving Harper room to get up, assuming she's not able to just pull the application out of the ether. He'll follow, if she does indeed need to move somewhere else, and might just also take a second to notice certain features which, it just so happens, are always right at eye level for him now that he's in a wheelchair and thus make it extremely hard to accuse him of peeking. Which is entirely what he's doing, but still.
"See, there you go, thinking I'm going to be some cool guy or something. You obviously haven't met many Marines- most of us are assholes," Tyrone says, laughing.

Harper's laughter briefly echoes through the library, a few startled sets of eyes lift to the Librarian, heads are shaken and they go back to what they were doing. "I know, I know. I haven't even bought you dinner. But I do make some tolerable muffins." She's serious? She's serious. Typically she reserves the delivery of food-stuffs to childhood friends and acquaintances. But there are some exceptions. And Tyrone's stepping into the category of acquaintance. Interestingly, none of them tell her that her gifts are anything other than welcome. Or that they're just this side of mediocre. It's the thought that counts, right? Tyrone answers to the affirmative and Harper pushes up from that chair, turning it back to its table and pushing it in. She heads over toward the large, four-sided circulation desk and steps behind the counter. She clearly expects Tyrone to follow her, at least to the patron side of the desk. She places her fingers atop the keyboard and those fingers fly, a few screens change and she's looking back to Tyrone. Oblivious or impervious to such looks. Never forget. That's Harper. She pulls her glasses from her pocket and slides them on, looks at him over the top edge of them, all Librarian-ed up. "Do you have a form of identification with you?" She then adds, "Usually we require proof of residency as well, but I'm the boss here, and now and then I make exceptions. Especially for Marines who call me 'ma'am'." A twinkle from her over those glasses and she'll reach for what he does hand her. The desk isn't one of those irritatingly high ones. Kids are encouraged to come to the desk also. So the level is fine for Tyrone, seated. "Shhh. Don't tell," she whispers.

Then there's a pause and Harper's gaze locks with Tyrone's. It's a little different than her charming smiles and pleasant conversation. "You have no idea what I expect you to be. Nor do you know what sort of assholery I do and do not abide." Perfectly serious. Almost as if he asked her why the non-fiction books are organized via the Dewey Decimal system.

There's a big smirk when Harper makes the comment about dinner. Oh, hey, muffins! "Ma-, er, Harper, if a Marine ever turns down homemade muffins, why you better call the paramedics right away because there's something seriously wrong with him," Tyrone says as he follows her to the circulation desk. Then, he looks a little nervous as he glances around to make sure nobody's watching before he shoots his shot. "But if anyone's buying dinner, that would be me. Because a lady never pays." More shiftings before he adds. "... just saying." In case, you know, she wasn't actually being serious and she was ALSO 'just saying.'
When she asks about identification, Tyrone grimaces a little and reaches underneath him. Almost unnoticeable under his seat, a little fanny pack is wrapped arond his chair, which he opens to produce his wallet. A military ID is withdrawn and slid across the table. "Sorry, ma'am, this is all I've got. Er, Harper! Sorry. But I haven't gotten all my civvy stuff taken care of, yet." The ID is still his Active Duty one, which shows his full name, SSN, Rank and Paygrade, which shows him as an E5 receiving Combat Pay- if that means anything to Harper. At the serious response to his asshole comment, his eyebrows arch in surprise. "... ma'am, yes, ma'am," is the only way the Marine can respond to being addressed so sternly.

"I know a local paramedic. I've known him since I was in high school, actually. If you are in need, just say the word, and I'll get his lights spinning right quick." Harper either has a very strange sense of humor, or it is sometimes very dry. However! Tyrone's statement about dinner buying does catch Harper off guard. But he's so young. Still, Harper smiles. "How rhetorical is this dinner?" She adds, "A lady sometimes pays. But old-fashioned gentlemen, even those of your young age, are always appreciated." How does Harper flirt without really flirting? It's that demeanor of hers. Everything seems genuine.

Harper reaches for the military ID and she looks it over, then looks at Tyrone, then repeats the whole process again. "I think I can safely say that this is an excellent forgery," she pauses a bit too long, "-- or it is you. I prefer the latter." She bubbles a laugh as he trips over ma'am again. "There are worse things to be called, really." From beneath the desk she draws out an application form. Where one would usually put a driver's license number, she pulls a pen from behind her ear, writes in small, neat penmanship, 'Military ID', then she copies down his rank and any other identifying numbers that could trace him. After that, she hands back the ID, then slides the form across to him along with the still-warm pen. It asks for his name, his Gray Harbor address, his phone number, and if he wants to receive emails about upcoming events at the library. It's a pretty simple form, as far as forms go.

The librarian settles into a chair behind the desk just as father and the young boy she was reading with come up to check out an autobiography of Dwight Eisenhower and three picture books from the series Harper was looking at with the boy. "Josh, I'm so excited you're checking these out," she exclaims in a quiet thrum of delight. The little boy beams. "When you bring them back, you have to tell me what you thought." She lowers her voice and leans toward the boy across the desk. "And if you found any more hidden secrets in the illustrations." The boy agrees readily, his dreams already impacted for later years about librarians. The father doesn't quite smile. He just gives his card, the books are checked out, and he tersely scoops them up and heads for the door, expecting Josh to follow him.

"Bye, Josh. Have a terrific day. Enjoy your books." Harper watches father and son until they are past the door and then sighs quietly to herself and turns back to see if Tyrone is finished filling out his form yet.

"I'm a Marine, Harper. We don't do rhetorical," Tyrone says, smirking and puffing up just a little at not being shot down. "But I'm pretty firm on paying. Maybe on my birthday," he relents, considering. Then, he smirks again and juts his chin out just a little. "And don't give me that, 'your young age' stuff. Until I handed you my ID, you had no idea how old I was. And you CAN'T be much older than me. Either that, or Gray Harbor has the fountain of youth and THAT'S why everybody's a little squirrely around outsiders," he teases.
There was probably more flirting about to be had when the father and son approach, which could possibly lend into the father's rather terse interaction with the librarian and his son. But when Harper has to actually do her job for a second, Tyrone takes the time to fill out the application. He actually has to pull out his phone to get his address, though, as he's still not used to writing it.
As the little boy and his dad leave, Tyrone turns the application around and slides it back to Harper. "Wow. You are REALLY good with kids, Harper," he says, genuinely. "That little kid is probably gonna go home and read those books as fast as he can. It's real cool that you would inspire kids to do something like that. I think most kids, these days, hate reading. So that's real cool."

Harper nods to Tyrone stating that he's a marine. Yes, he's told her. Yes, she's noticed the little manners about him that would indicate his service and training. Emboldened, he continues and she smiles at the birthday bit. "You are so young, I'll bet I'm nearly ten years older than you," Harper replies, her eyes dancing. "Maybe that's what I drank last night." Fountain of Youth, indeed. There was the interruption of terse father and enthusiastic son, then Harper's attention turns to the writing Tyrone was doing, the phone check. She reaches for the application and her pen, looks it over then glances up over her glasses at Tyrone again, brown eyes sparkling. "What a lovely thing to say," she replies softly. "Getting children excited about reading is one of my favorite parts about this job." She listens to the rest of the compliment. "I hope he does. And I hope his father stops hitting him." Whoa. Where did that statement come from?

More words of praise and the librarian shrugs her shoulders in a not-so-apathetic roll of warm I-do-what-I-can-it's-my-job sort of fashion. Then she's looking down to see that the fields are filled out. Did he add his email or mark 'No' on receiving updates and such? "This looks good, Sergeant Grier," she murmurs. Payback. Swiveling in her chair, her fingers fly over the keyboard as she enters information into the fields he just provided for her. Then she slips the form into a tray for such completed applications and new card-holders, and reaches into a small box to pull out a card that reads 'Gray Harbor Public Library' across the front. There is a bar code at the base and she uses her scanner to input the code in connection with Tyrone's name. The card is then handed over to Tyrone. "Don't lose this. Most important thing in your wallet." Another curve of a smile. "I expect to see you soon, eating up the wi-fi and letting me show you some favorite books from the Young Adult section." Oh, she is teasing him. Then she adds, "The wifi code changes daily. But all you have to do is come up to this desk and ask whoever is working what it is."

"Pft. Ten years? Bet you dinner you're not," Tyrone responds, smirking and leaning forward on the counter as she starts to look over the application. Yes, he provided an email, and yes, he'd like to receive updates. The email isn't flashy or anything, but if Harper is up on her military job codes, she may recognize the TGrier0311@gmail.com as having a corresponding one in the marines. Or she could discover as much later, if she got curious and wanted to dig up a little more about the man/baby at her desk. No Facebook, though. "And I meant it, too. A lot of adults kinda ignore kids." Though, the mention of the man beating his child causes Tyrone to immediately frown and look after them. The way he stares a little longer than normal may or may not have future implications. It will probably depend on if he can actually remember what the man looks like, since he didn't take a good look at him. Next time, though ....
When she notices that he was a sergeant and says as much, Tyrone's attention is immediately drawn back to Harper and his puffiness increases a little more. Sergeant has a completely different ring to it when it's coming from the lips of a woman you may or may not be taking on a date soon. "Yes, ma'am," Tyrone says with a nod and big smile as he takes his ID and library card and slides them back into his wallet. And then she's joking about the YA novels? "Actually, I already read Twilight in high school, so you don't have to show me." Two can play at that game! Tyrone leans just a little further forward as he smiles, making eye contact. "You strike me as more the Team Jacob type," he adds.

Harper appraises Tyrone frankly, her gaze trailing over him, as much as the counter allows: down then back up again. "More than five, you pay. Less that five, I pay," she almost agrees. Harper isn't up on her military speak enough to recognize the email for what it is. And she does take the privacy of the library's patrons quite seriously. She pats her hand to her chest over her heart. "Be still. A man who speaks sincerely." Still teasing. She watches Tyrone look after the now-departed father and son. "I hope that being occupied with books will keep him out of his father's line-of-sight." She was serious. So there is a patron whose privacy she doesn't protect. But then -- how would she know whether or not that man beats his son? Is she making it up? Certainly a public servant such as herself is obligated to report such things to Children's Services if it comes to their attention. She waits patiently until Tyrone looks back at her, opening her mouth to speak, then closing it again. She's not wrapping her newly acquainted patron in dark things just yet.

Harper notices the way the man straightens and that earns him another of her ready smiles. "You, Tyrone, you read 'Twilight'?" She's dubious. Maybe he saw the movie. But for a self-professed book-phobe such as himself, she's doubting him now. She watches the young man lean further over the counter and puffs a breath upward in an unsuccessful effort to shift her hair from in front of her eyes. That pen he used to fill out the form is tucked back behind her ear. "You think I like beasts more than pedophiles?" she counters. "I wonder what gave you that impression." Musing, eyes twinkling.

"Oh, no, I pay, either way. Less than five, you have to make me muffins," Tyrone wagers, waggling his head back and forth in a self-assured fashion. A quick glance back at the child-beater, and Tyrone shakes his head. "If not, karma is a bitch," he says, setting the topic aside for later.
When Harper appears to doubt his literary chops, he holds up his index finger. "I read Twilight. I didn't read the series." And then she asks about his determining factors, and he smirks, eyebrows waggling involuntarily upwards for a second. "Well, lets look at the facts. You're here, working in a library, surrounded by books. And look at your outfit, so conservative, so classic. I bet just about /everyone/ would put you on Team Edward because you fit a lot of the same tropes as Bella. But, I don't think you're like everybody else. I mean, the way you relate to that kid? The way you're into people, into knowing more about them? No way you'd fall for some aloof, loner vampire," Tyrone finishes, shaking his head and leaning back. Then, with a very sly smirk, he adds, "Plus, so far, it seems you're enjoying the hunt, even if you don't seem very sure about the catch."

Harper considers that deal. The young-old-fashioned man holds her gaze. "Deal." Then she says, "This time you have to shake my hand." Dirty or not. "There's no such thing as Karma," she disagrees quietly, the words briefly almost mournful. Then the smile returns as he takes them through 'the facts'. The comical way he waggles his eyebrows nearly makes her laugh. "No... no. No you don't. You can't clump me with Bella with no supporting evidence," she argues, apparently ready to sit here and debate this with him for the remainder of the afternoon. But then, then he shows that despite his youthful exterior, he does pay attention to details. Harper leans back in her chair and folds one leg atop the other, folding her arms across her slim chest in a debate challenging posture. "One could argue that Jacob was a loner too. He left his pack for Bella ... well, for her unborn child." He makes a few valid points, perhaps scores a point for himself to counter the significant age gap. "I do enjoy the hunt. Most hunts. Just about any hunt. But usually my 'hunts' manifest in the form of research." Oh, this Harper's one exciting chick. Research is what floats her boat? "Have I caught a beast or a Sergeant?" she asks thoughtfully. Candid as ever.

When a handshake is demanded, Tyrone leans back forward to commit, before leaning back again. "Well, but that's just it. He didn't leave his pack to be alone, like Edward frequently did. Really, Jacob was even more noble because he broke with tradition to go with what he knew to be right, and damn everyone else's opinion. The little girl WAS his family, at that point, and he couldn't abandon her." And then, a thought occurs to him, and he smirks. "Though I guess that does make him just as much a pedophile as Eddie, huh?" Tyrone chuckles and shakes his head. "Actually, I really enjoyed her book 'The Host' WAY better than Twilight. Movie wasn't bad, either."
And then they're back to the flirting again. Tyrone grins when he called it right. He knows things! Yay! He would probably have dug himself an insurmountable hole if he'd been wrong. But, that's how these things go! At the question about what she's caught, Tyrone just grins mischeviously at her. "I'm a Marine, Harper. I'm which ever the situation calls for," he says, offering her a wink.

A Marine who can support a thesis based on the 'Twilight' books? Harper regards him with a flat expression that masks how fascinated she is by this line of argument. "You ... ah ... know your Twilight, Sergeant." That is startlingly impressive in its own way. "Noble. You use that word in ways that -- definitely make your Marine side show." Now Harper starts laughing in earnest, though it's quiet laughter. This is at the point where it occurs to Tyrone that both male leads are pedophiles of a sort. She nods in agreement. "Best not to flatter a girl using YA literature, hmm Tyrone?" But then she's leaning forward, uncrossing her arms, resting both forearms on the desk between them. "Now that was an entertaining read. And who am I in that one?" Brown eyes sparkle. She pffts, scoffing playfully. "The movie is rarely comparable to the magic of its book." As though she has this opinion of most movies made from novels. It's true, he was digging himself a hole with the 'Twilight' train. But he jumped tracks at the last moment and startled Harper. Tyrone has more attention now than he did before. "And you're going to tell me more about being a Marine. Over dinner?" she inquires thoughtfully.

"Oh, no, like I said, I only read the first book. The rest is just from the movies," Tyrone says, making sure not to get himself in too deep, later. And ... that little dimple in his cheeks for a moment ... did she just make him blush? Thank GOODNESS for sufficient levels of melanin to make his skin unreadable! "Well, there are /some/ books you coud use," he tries to defend. But then she's talking about the Host and his eyebrows perk up a little. "Oh gosh, that's a lot harder, m- ... Harper. I mean, even if you ignore the other girls in the canyon, trying to pick between Wanderer and ... um ... gosh, I forget the girl's name," he admits, reluctantly. "But even so. They were both really deep characters." Good, then, that she brought up the dinner thing. Can Marines look sheepish? Probably better not say it to their face, no matter how much Tyrone's golly-gee smile looks that way. "Can I tell you /after/ dinner? I feel like I need to know you more to pick."

Harper doesn't miss the dimpling, brief as it is, but the blush? That's a shame. "Melanie," Harper supplies the protagonist's name easily. How many books does the librarian read? "In a way they became almost the same person." In several ways. To pick? Harper looks lost. Is he talking about restaurants? About aspects of being a Marine? About actually following through on dinner? "So you come back sometime this week at lunchtime and we have a picnic. Outside. No need to pick a restaurant then," she offers. There are a few umbrella'd tables outside. And it has been mostly hot and sunny this past week, save for the drizzle when Tyrone got off the bus. "And when I win our wager, it won't cost you that much. I'll even bring the picnic, if you like." Harper's gaze is just as friendly and cheerful, warm and welcoming as when she first introduced herself to Tyrone. "I can't have you leave thinking you shouldn't come back to the library before you've learned Gray Harbor."

"What? ... no, I meant I couldn't pick which /character/ you were in the Host. I need to know you better, first," Tyrone corrects. He chuckles and smiles. "And, Harper? My birthdate was on my ID. You already know if you won our wager or not," he adds. He then grins rather impishly and sits back in his chair, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "But you want a picnic, huh? You afraid if I treat you to a nice, romantic dinner, in a nice restaurant, wearing nicer clothes, you might not be able to resist me?" Incorrigible, this one. But, he never aluded to being anything else when given the chance to demure, so. That's what it means to be a Jarhead. He laughs, holding up his index finger without raising his hand, as he points out, "You're just lucky I'm out of the military and you don't have to try and resist the Dress Blues."

Harper tips up her chin and ohhhhhs when he clarifies. "I see. I'll have to tell you, Tyrone, I think you'll be disappointed. What you see--" she gestures to herself "-- is what you get." Then she pauses. "Not quite the way I meant it. Let's just say I'm a pretty open book. Small town librarian, living in horrific to mildly pleasant circumstances, liking it when new people come to my library." She briefly arches a brow as she pulls off those glasses and tucks them into the breast pocket of her sweater again. "But you are charming company. I'll say that right up front." Then he's chuckling and pointing out what she already knows and she looks faintly abashed, caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. "You're even younger than I guessed," she admits. "But not quite ten years." A playful smile. She doesn't lean back from where she's settled on her side of the circulation desk. "That's it," she deadpans. "I fear your dashing ways." She sighs an exaggerated sigh. "There is something about a man in uniform. Even if he is just only barely a man." This time she flushes. "I didn't mean that you -- I'm certain you've got your man-card. What Marine doesn't?" She waves a hand as if clearing smoke from the terribly suggestive words that she'd like to swallow back, flushing the faintest bit herself. "If you don't want a picnic, I'm open to other ideas. There's a great waffle place a few blocks from here." Waffles? Did she seriously just suggest waffles? Small town woes.

Tyrone laughs at Harper's linguistic faux pas, smiling at her. Leaning forward, he reaches a hand out to gently hold Harper's forearm, if allowed, while he reassures her. "Harper, you don't have to watch your language around me. If anything, /I'm/ the one who has to watch what they say in present company." He'll offer her a wink, at that, and smile. "Now, as far as a picnic or where we eat, if you don't mind, I'll go ahead and leave that up to you, since I wouldn't know a good restaurant from a hole in the ground around here. And heck, I haven't been on a picnic since I don't know when, so how do I know you can't make it super romantic and sweep me off /my/ feet?" A beat, "They're already off the ground and we just met." And then he grins. Oh, look, he's so punny.

Now that? That stills the energetic and lively librarian. The hand to her arm. She doesn't look disturbed, per se. More disarmed (ha!), just for a dozen or so seconds. So Tyrone gets to speak fully what he has to say. The sweater beneath his hand is fine lambswool, soft, fuzzy. Eventually, eventually she murmurs, "It wasn't my language so much as my appalling turns of phrase." She does quirk a brow at the revelation that Tyrone is holding his tongue in her presence. There's another side to the fascinating, young man? He winks and she simply watches. "I think a picnic would be lovely," she finally states after listening to all that. "Are you okay with bread, cheese, sliced meat,... perhaps some chocolate and apples? What do you like to drink?" The wheels are turning: Harper's planning. "The restaurant choices here, well ... you'll see." She shakes her head slowly at his pun. "You should come with a warning label, Sergeant," she observes.

"Why, ma'am, I do. It's 'Jarhead'," Tyrone says with a grin, his hand long withdrawn now. "But really, you don't have to worry about me taking offense to something you say POSSIBLY inferring my current state of disability. Honestly, you'd have to work pretty hard to offend me. Most of the time? I'm just going to point it out, smirk and make you feel feel bad for saying it, but I can promise it totally won't bother me. Heck, /I/ don't even think about my disability before I say stuff, most of the time. So no harm, no foul. Don't apologize. And also, don't just NOT say stuff because you're worried how I'll take it. If you couldn't tell by my jokes, most of the time I'm gonna laugh."
There's a gentle shrug at the mention of picnic contents. "I'm not a huge chocolate fan, actually. Don't really like a lot of sweets, in general. But, I'll bring some peanut butter and it's a go." And the question of drinks, he chuckles and shakes his head. "Don't think it's probably a good idea to have hard liquor at a picnic, so I'm fine with most sodas or juices. Or heck, it's a picnic, shouldn't we have lemonade or something?" Because he doesn't know what you would normally have at a picnic.

Harper's laughter drifts up to the arching ceiling of the library space. "Forgive me, but I haven't known any Jarheads before you, Tyrone. So you'll have to be patient." At his next statement Harper blushes even more furiously. "No ... no that's not what I thought I implied at all." She's all flustered now. "It was just the opposite." She looks positively twitterpated. He says what he'll do in response and she replies, "I do feel bad. Now." Here she was worried she'd first called him to young to be virile, and then called him overly virile, and the Marine thinks she was making a joke at his handicap, when the only jokes at his expense have been age related. She takes a deep breath, exhales. "You have an endearing laugh, Tyrone." Then he releases her from mortification and speaks to the contents of the picnic. "Would you rather have fried chicken and some salad?" She dips her chin once. "Lemonade, then." Then she asks, "Which day works for you? I usually take my lunch from noon to one o'clock, but Melinda can hold the fort a bit longer than that if necessary."

Okay, so, maybe he let her off the hook once. But, then she's gonna offer him fried chicken? Of course, his very first response is, "Is it because I'm black?" After which he'll wait a tick before laughing and shaking his head. "Nah, we can go with your first idea. Fried chicken would be freaking awesome, but that's a lot of work for a first picnic. Not to mention, I don't know if I can trust your cooking yet. So we can start with them muffins." No, he hasn't forgotten the muffins yet. "As far as when, I have absolutely nothing on my agenda, so. Whhenever you get your picnic supplies together, why don't you give me a call and I'll head over? I can give you my number," he says, holding his hand out since he's already aware that she has a pen readily available.