2019-11-14 - Frozen Crack Books

Mid afternoon on a Monday finds Harper in the stacks reshelving books from a cart she moves from place to place as she makes her way down one and then another bookshelf. A beige cardigan and matching top are offset by the loud, funky print of her skirt and the teal tights she wears, like a bright ray of sunshine in the rainy weather. Just about now she's settled back to regard the current bookshelf with a faint frown, hands on her hips. And she's ... talking to it? "... know better than to ... with the ..."

Is there a bell or a buzzer or something that alerts people to someone entering the library? If there is, it goes off when Tyrone wheels through the door. Not that it helps anyone spot him, since he's generally below sight-level of the desks and definitely not visible over bookshelves. Wheeling up to the circulation desk, Tyrone peers around in search of a particular somebody. A particular somebody who doesn't happen to be at their desk at the moment.
Wheeling around the circulation desk, Tyrone starts cruising past the bookshelves at a pretty good clip, narrowly avoiding people who happen to come around the corner at the wrong time. By the fact that he doesn't actually hit anyone, it's apparent he's getting pretty good at that. When he passes an aisle and sees the beige babe berating badly behaved books, he stops and whips his chair into the aisle and rolls her direction. He'll wait for her to finish her conversation, however. It's rude to interrupt, after all.

There's no bell. No buzzer. There's simply Harper keeping an eye on the entrance from the stacks and the assistant librarian in her fifties, Melinda, working the circulation desk. The latter looks up from the desk, but she waits until Tyrone is close enough to the desk before preparing to greet the man in the chair. However, Tyrone is a Marine with a mission and so he wheels on by. Melinda's brows skate up but she simply retakes her seat and goes back to entering some sort of data into the computer.

Harper and tradition? Not so much. She has just started pulling an entire row of books from a shelf and stacking them in neat piles on the floor when she catches sight of Tyrone in her peripheral vision and does an excellent quality double-take. "Tyrone?" If she weren't already the librarian, certainly someone would be shushing her right now. Melinda? She's used to Harper's non-traditional ways. Harper's expression breaks into a bright smile and she abandons her piles of books to stream down the aisle and, whether Tyrone likes it or not, she sweeps in for a brief, enthusiastic hug. "It's you! I thought you'd left town or, worse, you'd decided to eschew books entirely. Tell me it's not so." She draws back and straightens, then drops to a crouch to face Tyrone rather than looming. At least she didn't sit on the man's lap and demand a circuit of the library.

Well, THAT'S a surprise! Tyrone slows when Harper turns towards him, then stops when she hurries towards him, and then blinks for a few seconds when he's hugged. He reciprocates, though, hugging her back and smiling like a goofus when she pulls back. And she totally coulda sat on his lap, Tyrone would definitely have approved. But, instead she crouches and Tyrone's grin becomes a little sheepish. SO uncomfortable when people go out of their way to make him more comfortable!
"Oh ... nahhhhh ... I been around. I just ... well ... I mean ...," he stammers, trying and failing to come up with a good excuse as to why he hasn't checked out any more books. When falsehoods fail him, he just shrugs his shoulders way up and holds his hands out. "Sorry? But, if it's any consolation, I brought you something I think you might be super excited about ...." And, as he's not one to keep a lady waiting, as soon as he says this, he unhooks a backpack from his chair and sets it in his lap, unzipping it and pulling out something large, square, and wrapped haphazardly in a towel. And, even THROUGH the towel, the book Glimmers.

Harper isn't trying to make him more comfortable. It's her own comfort that makes her choose to crouch down and gaze up at the young Marine. She watches his grin transition from goofy to sheepish but she's not going anywhere. Even the books stacked on the floor down the aisle are left as they are for this semi-reunion. "You don't need to apologize to me, Tyrone. I don't take it as a personal slight if you find other things in life than books to hold your attention. You're here now. And you've made my day."

Harper's brows tip upward when he prefaces his reason for visiting with such superlatives. "Well that's not intriguing at all," she observes wryly, watching as he opens his backpack and pulls out the towel-wrapped item. The glimmering of the still-wrapped book catches at Harper's breath. She has a suspicion about what he's about to reveal. "You found a book, didn't you," she states somberly. "Tell me you didn't try to read it, Tyrone." He's here. He's coherent. The worry only furrows her brows faintly given the circumstances.

"What? ... you know? Aww," Tyrone says, obviously disappointed that his surprise isn't nearly as surprising as he'd intended. "And yeah, I ... well, I wouldn't call it /reading,/ but I did open it and got ... whatever'd by it. You ever seen Jumanji? I felt like it was Jumanji. Except, instead of Dwayne Johnson, I was Idris Elba. And not the 'I'm a nano-engineered superman' Idris Elba, either," he explains. In case Harper would understand the Hobbes & Shaw reference. Carefully, he holds the book out for her, which would also give everybody a great excuse for them to physically touch and for Harper to notice his Glimmer, if she wasn't already aware or whatever. "Why are you so worried? I mean, even if it sucks you in, it's a book. It's not like it's super hard to try and be safe."

Harper is nodding that she does indeed know but she is far more enthusiastic than Tyrone's disappointment would lead a person to believe. "First of all, Idris Elba far surpasses Dwayne Johnson. That's just common knowledge. As for the Jumanji experience? Been there, done that. I'm so glad you're alright." She reaches up to trace her knuckles lightly over Tyrone's cheek as if to prove to herself that he is actually right there. "How did you get out? I needed help to ... stop." She drops her hand away and reaches with both hands for the book, casting a glance to the spine to try to decipher the constantly changing letters there to read a title. "What's this one about?" She glances back up at him, "You've got a touch of sparkle to you, as well. Welcome to the dark side, my friend."

Harper simply looks at Tyrone when he asks why she's worried. "I have it direct from an expert that some people who fall into these books never climb back out again. I'm so glad that fate didn't befall you, Ty." He's never given her permission to truncate his name. Perhaps he'll correct her now. "Can I ask why you thought to bring it here? I've been searching for them around town."

"I dunno. Dwayne Johnson, by himself, maybe. But there hasn't been a galactic force on the screen like the Rock and Kevin Hart since Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder," Tyrone says. And he's /obviously/ seen Blazing Saddles, for folks keeping score at home. When Harper brushes her hand against his face, Tyrone's face crinkles up and he once again thanks his lucky stars that the melanin in his skin doesn't change color easily. Though the 'blushing' facial expression is still fairly recognizable. "Oh, some little kid on Roller Skates bumped into me and knocked the book closed," he says, shrugging as if it's no big deal. "The book's called 'The Serpent's Eye,' and it's ... well, it's pretty much like Jumanji. A team of explorers are in the jungle somewhere. Set before world war two in some jungle place, like the South Pacific. Everybody's apparently British. The part I saw, I had just gotten off a plane and this hot blonde chick drove me into the jungle, where Jack Black's character was going on about this find and this tablet I needed to translate. It said something about 'if you see the eye, scram.' And then there was an earthquake, I saw the eye, and I scrammed." He looks upwards for a second, recalling. "Yup, that's it, and then I got knocked out of it."

When Harper tries to read the cover, though, Tyrone grimaces and tries to pull the sheet back around it. "Careful! Soon as I touched the book, it started making things all nuts. That's why I wrapped it in this sheet. And ... I brought it to you ... cause ... well ... you're a librarian. I thought you'd know what to do?" He shrugs again, plaintively, having no better exlanation for his actions.

If Harper disagrees about The Rock and Kevin Hart, she keeps that information to herself. The reference to Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder earns him a quirking smile. Harper seems impervious to the blushing body language. "Thank goodness for children in skates, then," she replies. And though she's not whispering, her voice isn't raised either. "It's alright. I can touch it. I have more than a half dozen of them now. I'm trying to find them all before anything horrid happens to someone."

She listens to his tale of the plot of his book. "It sounds exciting. How did you know not to go back to reading it?" She listens to his reply and then pats the back of one of his hands, "I'm so glad you thought to bring it here. Apparently a couple dozen of them were misplaced from the Dream in our reality and my counterpart there has asked me to collect them to return." She offers, "My story was a cross between Steampunk and a Rock Opera." A rueful but warm smile from the librarian at her revelation. "And I didn't want to leave. Not at all."

Harper takes the book, whether Tyrone insists it be wrapped or not. "Where did you find it?"

Answering the last question first, Tyrone shrugs again. "Under a bench. Nobody else noticed it, but I have a better angle for stuff like that. I was just trying to check and see if anybody had written their name in it when I opened it and got sucked in." He smirks a little as Harper takes the book from him. "As far as knowing not to go back in, mama didn't raise no fool. Opening the book got me sucked in, soon as I was out, I closed it up, put it behind me and didn't touch it again until I got home. That's when I wrapped it in a towel and put it in my freezer." Now, the book and its towel aren't presently cold at all, so it obviously hasn't been in the freezer very recently. But ... apparently it was?

Tyrone cants his head to the side a little and furrows his brow. "So what do you mean 'counterpart?' Do we have like ... dopplegangers over there or something? Me and Easton are trying to put together a team to go hunting for the bad stuff over there. If there's another me over there, we need ta recruit him."

Under a bench. Harper shakes her head slowly, likely imagining how much worse it could have been, how much further Tyrone could have fallen into the book. She pats his hand again, "I'm so glad you're alright." If she repeats it enough times maybe she'll feel less worry. "The freezer -- well, that's definitely one solution."

Counterpart? "There is -- I suppose you could call her a woman, though I use the term very loosely here." Harper's voice moves toward the quieter end of a murmur. "She's a librarian there. I've been to her library. People visit and they can read for a very particular allotment of time with supervision. At the end of that time, they must close the books, return them, and leave. Apparently things shift between our reality and the Dream and sometimes things don't, how shall I say?, line up completely and that's how the books fell through to Gray Harbor. It's been a slow process, trying to find and collect the books. You and Easton are friends? Gray Harbor is a small world." Harper smiles again. "So tell me abut this Bad Stuff Hunt. Is it just a general search for all things dark and nightmarish, or do you have a quarry in mind?"

"He was my cee-oh for a while in Afghanistan. He got out a while before me, but we went through some sh-, er, stuff together," Tyrone corrects, using better language in the presence of a lady. "So, we stayed in touch. When he heard I got shot and was doing my rehab up in Seattle, he encouraged me to come down here. And here I am. I owe him a major butt-kicking, but my kicking ain't so good anymore." There's a wry smirk at this, as Tyrone is obviously joking.

Tyrone listens to Harper's explanation about her counterpart and 'ohs' quietly. He considers that, then nods, as if it makes all the sense in the world. "If they got books, s'pose a librarian'd be a good thing to have," he reasons. Though he does reach over to put his hand on Harper's shoulder and give her a look. "But I'm /fine/ Harper. I'm a United States Marine Corps Infantrymen. You get me out of this chair and I am almost always gonna be the most dangerous thing around." He winks and settles back in his chair a little.

"As far as the hunting goes ... we're still makin' plans. I got super sick for a while and kept getting sucked into Nightmares. And I saw some ... pretty bad stuff. Easton said he's seen the same thing, plus there's stuff over there that hunts folks who ... Shimmer? Shiver?" Obviously, he's not quite familiar with the lingo yet. "Well, like I said. I'm not used to being in danger, so I've a mind to turn things around. We're still working out exactly how."

Harper listens to the sanitized version of Tyrone's story about his shared past experiences with Easton. "There's more than one way to kick a butt," she replies with a certain smile. "I don't doubt your ability to fight whatever needs to be fought, Tyrone. I haven't since the first time you came through those library doors. Don't you dare think I underestimate you and your ability to do things with your little finger that would seriously injure another human being." Harper doesn't buy into Tyrone's self-deprecation. Nor does she chide him for it.

She nods in agreement to the need for a librarian in the Dream. But how could Harper not believe in the importance of her job in any situation? She quirks a grin at him after he winks at her. "You got the death flu too, huh? I haven't found anyone yet who escaped that horrid affliction. In fact, Easton was the one who gave it to me, I'm pretty certain. So next time you kick his butt, you can add in a kick for me." The librarian's smile is playful. "I used to say sparkle, but I've been told the term is 'glimmer'." Harper's not so expert on the vernacular, herself. "Well, if you need some mad librarian skills, you have to promise to take me, too." Harper looks as though she's skeptical Tyrone would do any such thing. It's a good ol' boys trip, to be certain.

"Oh yeah. /Glimmer/." Tyrone shakes his head. Such a stupid word. "And yeah, Easton gave it to me, too. He was /supposed/ to be spotting me while we were lifting weights, but he was in front of me instead of behind me, and I went over backwards and hit my head and we both wound up in the dream. Fought a cot dang dragon, too. Didn't even phase it. After that, I was itching to get back over and exact some payback, but instead I got super sick and thought I'd died and gone to hell a couple times," he says, looking down and shaking his head. Not pleasant Dreams, apparently.

When Harper indicates she'd like in on the action, Tyrone grins and nods. "Hell yes, ma'am. Easton actually already talked about getting you involved. You know much about the history of Grey Harbor or anything? Or, I mean, heck, you're searching for all these shiny books. Maybe you'll find something, or maybe your 'counterpart' will be able to get us some more info. Either way, ain't never a bad thing to have more intel at your disposal. And if you're willing to come over and help? So much the better!"

Tyrone's derision of the terminology draws another of Harper's easy and sincere smiles, amused even. "A dragon? Well that sounds like quite the story." She leaves an opening for him if he chooses to take it right there. She nods slowly when he describes how beyond terrible the flu was. "You had Nightmares, too, hmm? It was horrific, if you don't mind my saying so."

He calls her ma'am and Harper's smile grows. "I'd be happy to come along and be of any assistance I can. I suspect Geoff might want to come, too. I can't imagine being any safer than with my own unit of Marines. Certainly, I can try to get in touch with Whisper if you have something in particular you'd like to know. It's not like picking up a phone. I have to be asking when she's listening and we don't often line up that way. But you let me know if you want me to try. I'm willing, soldier."

"Oh, actually, it's not really that good. I got knocked out and me and E showed up, back in Afghanistan and I was outta my chair. Dragon showed up, we started fighting it, and some random female elf showed up and helped me escape when we couldn't even dent him." But, when she mentions a 'Geoff,' Tyrone's jealous instincts kick in and he sits up. "Who's 'Geoff" he asks. Too quickly? Is he being obvious? He tries to smooth it over quickly.

Harper listens to Tyrone relay a succinct version of the dragon tale. "What a strange combination of real events and fantastical ones," she observes. "Geoff? He's Easton's Las Vegas husband and my boyfriend," she answers blithely. Because that combination makes so much sense. "You'd like him, I think."

He's dating Harper? Immediate cause for disapproval! Tyrone frowns for a second, but then thinks about things and shakes his head. He's being ridiculous. "Well, I haven't met him, but if you like him and you're dating him, then he has to be pretty decent poeople." There! A much more reasonable response to the discovery of the fact that a hottie has a boyfriend.

"But yeah, me and cap are working on putting together something. If not for hunting, then at least a rapid response team or something in case folks do wind up in trouble over there. Or heck, in one of your books, too. Where ever we can help."

Harper watches a barrage of half visible reactions cross Tyrone's face, perhaps misconstruing them just a little. "We've known each other since high school, actually," she answers regarding whether she knows Geoff well enough and whether she has the history to judge his character. "Our book clubs go way back. Imagine the perfect foil for Easton and you have Geoff." That may or may not help Tyrone with an image of who the man Harper is referencing is. "He's a tattoo artist." Harper's brown eyes twinkle as she watches Tyrone's reaction to each new piece of information. As for being a hottie, Harper might just vociferously argue that completely subjective assessment. Fortunately for her, she can't passively read Tyrone's mind.

"How will you know?" If people wind up in trouble over there. "Have you worked out some sort of alarm system? I know if I were caught up in trouble in the Dream and I knew there was a Marine Corps team who could come help me out, I'd want that 9-1-1."

"Not yet. Like I said, we still gettin' started. Like, we planning on planning, right now. Ain't nothin' figured out," Tyrone explains about the 911. And while there's plenty his face may be giving away to Harper, he's too much of a guy and much too young to be paying any attention. He smirks a little, though, and nods. "And yeah, for sure, if we do figure something out, we're gonna share it. We'll keep you in the loop. ... and it would be a whole Marine Corps, or a squad of Marines. The Teams are spec ops," he clarifies, winking again.

It's at this point that Tyrone notices the piles of books that are on the floor around them and he grins impishly and nods towards them. "And, while I may not be a whole team, there is one Marine who'd be happy to help you out, in or out of the Veil. I'd offer to be your personal Marine Corps, too, buuuuuut ... you already got a man. You'll just have to imagine what you're missing."

"A Special Ops Team, then. What girl wouldn't jump at that?" Harper grins at her own ignorance, but holds her ground on the point she made. "Or guy. Why contain it to one gender, really?" Now she's laughing, but it's utterly inclusive. Tyrone finally makes his thoughts clear and Harper's smile softens. "Oh Tyrone. You're going to find your lady, and you'll thank me when you do for having been otherwise engaged. Believe my sincerity when I tell you she'll be one lucky girl." Then she rolls from her crouch to a more comfortable settle on her knees, her hip dropping to the carpetted floor. "Does a lack of a dating relationship mean I don't get to call?" She shakes her head, "You have no idea how boundless my imagination is, sweetheart." She taps a fingertip against the knuckles of Tyrone's nearer hand. "Don't underestimate the librarian. It's sound advice."

Tyrone laughs and folds his arms across his chest, quirking an eyebrow at Harper. "See, women keep telling me that and I just have to wonder ... none of you want to get lucky?" he says, clearly teasing. He laughs, unfolding his arms again and resettling in his chair. "And no, you know you can always call me. I'm happy to serve." And then his smirk grows again. "In every way you could possibly imagine."

Harper enjoys the warmth of Tyrone's company, even with a Dream-novel set on the floor beside her skirt-clad hip. "I'm one very lucky girl, Tyrone. I can't say as much for the greater population of women in Gray Harbor. You keep those keen Marine eyes peeled. I know you'll scout her sooner rather than later. And the girls of Gray Harbor will heave a collective sigh of disappointment when you do." Harper is either sociopathic or she's incredibly sincere. In every way she could possibly imagine? "That's a lot of ways, Tyrone. Numerous ways." Her laughter is quiet but no less warm.

Tilting his chin up, Tyrone offers, "Marines are the Swiss Army Knife of the military. I have lots of uses. I also offer a variety of tools you could make use of." He then shrugs again a little shaking his head. "You know that argument falls very flat. Saying how well off some other girl would be just begs the question why you wouldn't want it for yourself. You're better off just putting the shovel down and saying you're not available, rather than trying to convince me how much better off I'd be with someone else." He smiles, though, and offers her a wink. "I won't press you about it, though. I just hope that imagination of yours doesn't get you in trouble, thinking about how good my lips would feel on you, or how it feels being wrapped in arms like these," raising one of his arms so he can pull his sleeve up and flex, showing off that he has most definitely been in the gym since they'd last spoken. "Or if it's really true what they say about black guys. I mean, I know how hard it is to keep /my/ imagination in check, sometimes, so if yours is so good, I definitely wouldn't want to give you too much to think about." Because he's /such/ a saint.

The Swiss Army Knife. Harper goes along for the ride on that one. "Corkscrew and everything?" she teases. Her quiet laughter is delighted and warm as he gives his own analogy a flat verdict. "I'm very happily taken. Frequently and with great aplomb, thank you very much, Tyrone." She tries to affect a sanctimonious tone and only gets to comically haughty, which is not very haughty at all. "But just because a girl is taken, that doesn't make her blind or impervious. You need to learn to take a compliment from the fairer sex, my friend. And I'm happy to give you practice."

Imaginations. "My imagination frequently gets me in trouble. The problem is too many books. They hone the imagination. So don't you think because I'm friendly and cheerful that I'm not sharp or dynamically invested in all sorts of dark and perverse storylines, Sergeant. The only thing that offsets my potent imagination is my aggravating tendency to be utterly faithful to the man in my life." She shakes her head and mocks a rueful expression. "So aggravating."

Tyrone takes the opportunity to show off his arms and Harper tips her brows upward. "Definitely some nice arms. They go with the whole package, really. You come back when you have a girlfriend and I'll take that chauffeured ride around the library." Black guys? Harper's mouth drops open. "You did not just say that, Tyrone. In my library? The scandal!" Her astonishment is undone a bit by the sparkle in her brown eyes. "That's the thing about sharp imaginations: they don't need inspiration. They're self-propelled. But currently mine is all wrapped up in the stacks after closing." Certainly she means books to shelf and not something else. With someone else. Harper can play hardball. It's just that few rarely give her the opportunity to do so.

"While I haven't tried, I'm certain a corkscrew could be accomplished," Tyrone defends, with a smirk. He listens as Harper fills him in on her sex life and just chuckles, holding his hands up. "I give, I give. As much as my teasing would beg to differ, I wouldn't want you to be unfaithful. It's my opinion that if you cheat /with/ me, you're just as likely to cheat /on/ me. So I'll stop poking. And you can sit in my lap anytime you'd like. I can't feel my legs, so I don't count them as part of my personal space."

His smile is constant and he lowers his hands out to the side in another shrug. "But you /are/ super hot for a librarian, Harper. And it's really not fair to tell me how awesome your imagination is and how much you like getting it in, when all /I/ get to do /is/ imagine. Of those whose luck has come into question, I'm definitely gonna say GEOFF is probably the luckiest person, between all of us. He gets you, your imagination, /and/ your body, and I merely get the steamy shower scene in my mind."

And, last but not least, he puts his hands behind his head and shrugs one more time. "But, whether you need it for your imagination or not ... it's true."

Harper can't help but laugh helplessly and quietly at the corkscrew banter. He tells her he wouldn't want her to be unfaithful, and she agrees wholeheartedly with his logic. "Cheaters are despicable, I agree." She offers up a smile at the someday-ride around in Tyrone's chair. Or maybe it's the fact that he's offered to stop poking. Her smile is conciliatory as he complains about tales of her imagination. As for super hot? "I'm not sure whether I should be offended on behalf of all librarians or flutter my fan at the compliment, Tyrone." But then she nods, "Geoff is ... well, I'll let you decide for yourself when you meet him." Because she's quite certain with the Easton connection that said meeting is inevitable. She tips her brows up at the suggestion of shower scenes. "You mean like in Psycho?" Laughter laces through her words. "I'm going to find you a girl who deserves a good man, Tyrone. Just give me some time. Since you have a particularly low estimation of librarians, it may take me a little longer than usual." Harper and teasing. Teasing and Harper.

"If you are offended by the truth, life will be hard," Tyrone offers with a shrug. "But it's not like you've got like, some kinda body-of-a-goddess or anything. /You/ are hot. Especially the way you smile so genuinely. And the little smirk you have when you're playing. It's no wonder Geoff be on you a bunch, how could he not?" Tyrone reasons. Man logic. "And Geoff is lucky to have you. Period. In general, most dudes is lucky when they get a girl, because we usually don't have any dang idea what we doin' in the first place." He laughs and grins, shaking his head.

At the Psycho reference, he grimaces and shakes his head. "Nah, not like that." At the offer of finding him a girl, he just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. If you thought you was too old for me, your other librarian way the hell outta bounds. And really, I got Tinder, I got Bumble. I don't know if you go'n have any more luck than I am. I'll survive being single."

Tyrone gets serious without warning and Harper quiets and listens. "Those compliments? I'll accept those and say thank you, because they're beautiful and sincere and meaningful. Thank you, Ty. You claim to be a thick-headed man, but there's a perceptive, delightful person behind those eyes. And I'm glad to know you, all teasing aside." He lets the Psycho tease roll off has back and Harper takes the cue to stop teasing. "I didn't mean Melinda. Give me some credit, Sergeant."

She reaches up and lightly pets the back of Tyrone's hand in a sincere, amiable manner. "You'll do better than survive. You'll live. You'll laugh. You'll work with Easton to keep us all safer. You'll bring me dangerous books. And you'll ruffle my feathers with delicious compliments. And while you're living and giving off those imagination vibes, some lucky girl will notice and chase after you. I guarantee it. You'll be showering in no time." Harper drops her hand back to her lap and tips her head.

Tyrone blinks a little as Harper gets more serious, having not even realized he was being serious himself! How horrid! When she explains that she was not referring to 'Melinda,' Tyrone grimaces and glances aside. "So ... the fact that I've never /seen/ Psycho may mean that I'm only familiar with the scene where the chick gets the knife," he offers. Because it's true. And then he smirks. "But I ain't never said I was thick headed! I'm a marine. It's /jar/ headed."

When Harper goes on about what he's gonna do, Tyrone clearly gets embarassed, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Oh sheesh, Harper. You make it sound like I'ma be ... ... ... well, I dunno, but I sure ain't tryin'a be all that." And then he looks back over at Harper, shrugging. "And I mean, I dunno how much I can really take credit for pointing out the obvious. Sayin' how cool you is is pretty much like sayin' today is Thursday or the sky is up. I'm just the lucky observer. But ain't no girl go'n chase a dude in a wheelchair. At least, not unless she even more messed up than me. And that's aight, I don't mind doin' the chasin'. Just gotta find one that ain't go'n run up some steps." More jokes with this guy.

"That's the scene," Harper confirms about her shower imagination teasing. She contemplates the smirk. "Jar-headed. Though I'm not exactly certain what that implies, Tyrone." Harper actually looks perplexed when Tyrone pauses. "You're not trying to be all that. If you were trying to be all that it would be off-putting. You are all that, Tyrone. Take me at my word. I can be perceptive when I focus really hard." Brown eyes twinkle. "If I can graciously accept your sincere compliments, then do me right by accepting mine, hmm?" Harper shakes her head slowly about his comment about the wheelchair. "Tyrone, if I were seven years younger and single, I'd be pursuing you. So let's not make it about the chair, okay? Your suffering aside? Your sacrifice for the safety of others --" Yes, she remembers their first conversation. "-- the ... 'jar headed' way you take on the world? Those are attractive qualities. At least in my opinion they are. And you're here talking to me, so it's my opinion that counts." She reaches out and nudges the chair just so like she'd bump his shoulder with her own if they were sitting next to one another. "Suck it up, Marine."

"Yeah, that's the thing. Being jar-headed? It means being a Marine. And being a Marine means being jar-headed. Like they say, 'it takes a special type to be a Marine.'" And Tyrone seems somewhat proud of that utter /lack/ of a definition. But, he's not wrong- it's generally understood what the saying implies, even if there's no explicit definition. The Marines have a certain je ne sais quoi.

When Harper demands that he accept her compliment, he makes a show of sighing and accepting the words. "Oh alright, I suppose I'll llet you give me compliments," he says in a very Droopy fashion. Then, back in a regular tone, he continues. "And you ain't gotta be 7 years younger. You MILF age. Still just as hot. The single, though, would be a deal breaker."

When he gives the circular definition, Harper simply gives Tyrone a Look. But even her Look is friendly even while being skeptical. He'll allow her compliments. "Thank you so much," she deadpans. "MILF? Did you just compare me to a woman-with-kids? I might have to stand up right now and walk away from you before I deck you, Tyrone." Harper has to work to quell her amused smile. It takes effort!

Let it be noted that Harper 'decking' anyone would be a feat. There's the lack of knowledge in the how-to department, then there is the lack of oomph behind anything she might be able to 'throw'.

"I said MILF-/aged/. You a grown woman. A fine ass grown woman," Tyrone says, taking the opportunity to step through the open door and compliment her some more in his excuse. "And really, how far you go'n walk? Cuz the project you workin' on look like it's right here. And as much as I'd hate to see you go, I'd sho love to watch you leave." And there he goes, grinning again.

Harper pushes up to her knees and tries to shove at Tyrone's shoulder, "You take that back!" She doesn't budge him at all. That just frustrates her more, though really it's a playful frustration. "You damn well better call me a LILF or I'm going to get violent."

"Yeah, but see, you get violent, then I gotta restrain you, then you go'n struggle, then I'ma have to pin you down, and then we right back to where we said we wasn't go'n go with you and your imagination and my BFD," Tyrone says, drawing out the parts of the sentence as he leans from one side to the next through the evolution of events. Then he smirks. "And I think we already established that you're a Librarian that I would love to corkscrew," he adds. Then, leaning back and puttin his hands behind his head again. "But, I mean if you wanna go there, I'm ready when you are."

Harper folds her arms petulantly across her chest as she listens to Tyrone's listing of causation and effects. He finally finishes his rant and she simply replies: "LILF. Say it."

"Harper. You are the hottest LILF I have ever seen before and I can barely contain myself," Tyrone says, deadpan.

"Was that so hard?" Harper inquires. From across the large space of the library, Melinda is watching Harper with brows raised, probably trying to determine if intercession is necessary or if this is just one of those Things Harper Does. She retakes her seat and goes back to work while Harper contemplates Tyrone with a faint frown, arms still folded across the front of her cardigan-sweater-clad chest. "Don't ever use the M with me again, got it Marine?" For all her teasing, there's a kernel of truth somewhere deep in there.

She catches herself, takes a breath an settles back down to her hip on the carpet. "Now --" A beat. "-- tell me it won't be three months before you walk through my doors again."

"Oh, I can guarantee it'll prolly be a LOT more than three months before I walk through /anybody's/ door," Tyrone responds immediately Because she left that door wide open.

After pausing a beat to let the joke sink in, Tyrone just grins and laughs. "And sure, I promise never to call you the 'm word,' oh tragedy of tragedies. And did you know how terribly cute you are when you're pouting"

Harper presses her palm to her forehead as if she has a terrible headache when Tyrone calls her on the idiom. She shakes her head like that for a long few moments, then drops her hand away and replies, "As you say." Stubborn Harper can't quite let go. "I hope you visit sooner." At the promise not to use the dreaded 'M' she lifts her brown eyes to look at him once more. "Thank you." Yep. Definitely something more to that. Also probably for the best not to ask. "You know, I can't even shove you effectively. You can't steal away my pouting thunder by calling me cute, too. You're hitting me when I'm down." She arches a brow as if to test if her argument will work.

Tyrone finally gets the seriousness of not calling her the 'm word,' making his own inferences and nodding in response to her thanks. "And yeah, of course I'll see you in less than three months. Especially if you're gonna be a part of our squad. Be kinda hard to work with you if I don't ever see you." And then she's demanding that he not call her petulance cute and Tyrone has to laugh. "But it /is/ cute! And it's not my fault that you can't effectively use force. You could always start coming to the gym and try and /change/ that, but. Nobody was ever afraid of the mouse that roared."

Part of the Marine squad. Who would have thought? Harper will believe it when it happens. "I hope that happens," she freely admits. His laughter seeds her ever-present but somehow always genuine smile. "I don't do gyms, Tyrone. I'm allergic to working out." She shakes her head and gestures to herself, "This body was made for shelving books, not shoving Marines, despite my best efforts." She shrugs, it's a little, half-hearted gesture rather than the apathetic one Americans are so well known for. "So," her voice lowers to a whisper. Will wonders ever cease? "-- you're glimmering now. What's your flavor?"

"Shelving books and hot, hot loving, if the rumors you're trying to spread are to be believed," Tyrone qualifies, holding up a finger. He snickers after and remains with his hands behind his head. However, when Harper lowers her voice, he does straighten up a little. "... what's my ... flavor? I don't know what you mean. And am I glimmering right now? Can I make it stop? Is it me, or the book?"

Harper opens her mouth and closes it again. Nope. She's not touching the hot, hot loving comment. Just no. "I am spreading no rumors. Just jousting with a friend." He claims to have no awareness of his own glimmer and Harper looks surprised. "Most people who have the sparkle --" She uses her prior word because she likes it better. Especially when applied to a Marine. "-- can do things with it. Some people can hurt and heal. Some can play with thoughts and perception. I'm sure there must be other things, too. Those are simply the only ones I know about. Easton hasn't talked to you about it?" She's still whispering. And Harper doesn't tend to whisper in her library.

Tyrone is about to respond to Harper's explanation with further questions, but his phone starts going off underneath him. He frowns and fishes his phone out of its pocket and silences the alarm. "As much as I'd love to find out what in the heck you're talking about, that alarm means the bus I need to catch to get to work is gonna be here soon. So, I gotta go catch it. But you're gonna have to explain what the heck you mean next time we get together. Because I haven't got a clue." He then offers her a hand to help her get up. "So put a pin in this conversation and I'll be back in the next couple days for you to tell me what you mean. I have to come back downtown on the bus home, anyway, so maybe I'll stop by and see if you're still here. See you later, Harper. I'm sure it'll be difficult, but try to enjoy the rest of your shift without being so distracted imagining all the things you could do with my BFD," he says as he backs out of the aisle so he can turn towards the door.