2020-03-10 - The Literary Vampire

Tuesday morning. 10:25 am. The library is rather quiet just now. Sure, there's John over there. The retired gentleman who comes in every day to read copies of the papers that the library has subscriptions to. There's a forty-something woman upstairs in a tailored pantsuit bustling around preparing for a meeting of school district administrators in one of the two meeting rooms upstairs (the one with the long table to sit around).

Despite its age and the faint scent of mildew -- that never quite dissipates before there is another flooding down in the basement -- and the very 70's color scheme, the library is a welcoming place that seems to reflect some of the exuberance of its lead librarian. To the front, left is the periodical section along with some displays for current themes of books to read. Follow the circular, vaulted room around clockwise, and to the back at about 10 o'clock is a children's section butted up against YA books. Along the back of the room at noon is a bank of incredibly slow computers. The library has decent wi fi, but the city never funded newer computers to keep up with it. There is a door just to the right of that with a polite sign that reads 'Employees only'. From one to four on the imaginary clock are tall stacks of fiction in alphabetical order by author. On the nearest right to the front entry doors is non-fiction, all Dewey decimaled. This section stretches into a small section for local books -- both authors and topics. In the center closer up toward the entry is a circular circulation desk. There's room for three people to work behind the desk, four if they are really chummy. Between the circulation desk and the front door are all sorts of sofas and comfortable (if aged) chairs to sit in while reading. Work tables are scattered through the different sections.

Harper is currently seated behind the circulation desk with a three-shelved rolling cart of books pulled up close to her knees. It looks like she is affixing bar codes and spine-tags to the books. Perhaps they're new?

There's a slow-paced conversation taking place between herself and John between stories he's reading in the papers. "No, I honestly don't believe she'll run for office again," she says halfway across the front of the library. "Did you read anything interesting about the situation in Hong Kong?" Her smile is warm when she turns it in John's direction. He answers her with some concise, faintly terse commentary on some third party politicians, then tells her she'll just have to wait if she wants to talk about Hong Kong.

"I suppose I can be patient, Mr. Applegate," she replies with a fond smile as she turns back to the books she's been systematically preparing for shelving.

The door to the library opens and a face thus far unknown to the building makes its way in, taking a few steps in and just stopping to glance around and get a feel for the layout. Garrett is dressed a bit lighter than the weather probably permits, well-broken-in blue jeans and a light gray hoodie to counter the retreating winter. At least he's wearing boots. He doesn't say anything as his eyes make a slow lap around the room, though he does hum softly under his breath as he considers his surroundings.

It may appear that Harper has her nose in a few dozen books. But one of those large doors swings open to admit someone new to the library and everything stops. She casts a scanning gaze down and back up over the newcomer and then simply smiles and leans a forearm into the flat surface of the curved desk in front of her. Waiting. Not all patrons like to be attacked as they arrive. Some find their own way. Some ask for guidance or assistance of some kind. Her demeanor is entirely warm and welcoming. Keeping her elbow on the desk, she lifts her hand and rests her chin light atop the knuckle of her first finger.

Garrett finishes his sweep of the room, pausing briefly at the woman behind the counter, before moving forward. He offers a friendly and slightly relieved smile as he approaches. "Morning," he greets, giving a small nod, voice kept low, because library. "Run the show here, I assume?" he confirms, though his tone is strongly a 'just a formality' sort of question rather than any actual concern that a stranger has snuck behind the counter to label books.

There are at least four full time librarians that work at the library. Garrett simply happened upon one of those times when the lead-librarian, as it reads on the lanyard that hangs around her neck down toward the base of her sweater, is the one manning the desk (and the entire library). "I answer to Show-runner, yes," she answers with a sparkle to her brown eyes and the beginning of a capricious smile tipping the corners of her lips upward in a charming fashion. "But you can also call me Harper. It works nicely." She cants her head just so. "What can I do for you, Mister ..." She invites a name with the cadence of her words.

"Harper does seem less awkward," Garrett concedes with a nod and grin. "Mister Marcus, but Garrett will do," re responds, leaning a bit on the counter, amused twinkle in his eyes, and maybe exaggerating his London accent just a touch. "I don't suppose you have anything about local legends?" he inquires, grin faltering for just a brief moment.

The accent does not go unnoticed, but Harper has the good grace not to point out that charming detail. "Garrett, then," Harper agrees with a dip of her chin atop that knuckle. "Ah, you want to get tangled up in the questionnable lore of our mysterious and dark city. I hope you have prepared yourself," she murmurs with what appears to be playful solemnity as she pushes to her feet and circles around the desk, then crooks a finger at the man. "This way for dangerous, dangerous knowledge, Garrett. But I cannot guarantee that answers will be any better than questions, despite my profession and love of everything literary." She leads him over to the local section that seems to be quite popular if the wear on most of the books is any indication. Gesturing toward one portion of the display, she offers, "Local authors." Then to the other portion. "Local topics, including some of the more spurious tales." Then she adds in a more matter-of-fact voice, "And information." Her dancing gaze is humor-inclusive of the man rather than seemingly at his expense.

"Yes. Want to. Let's go with that," Garrett agrees with a crooked half-smile. He turns to follow Harper, only looking slightly embarrassed that the section he wanted was apparently right next to him upon entering. He nods as each sub-section is pointed out, gaze lingering more on the latter than former. "Any suggestions on what might be the most accurate?" he asks. "...also, I should probably apply for a library card while I'm here," he adds as an afterthought.

Garrett's statement draws Harper's gaze back to him more quickly. "Compelled, then?" she inquires with an uptipping of her brows. "Fascinating." As for suggestions, "That, I suppose, depends what you're looking for." She points to a few books. "These have some excellent historical information and anecdotes." Then she points to another well-worn book. "This one has some wide-reaching --" She emphasizes the adjective. "-- theories and postulations about unsolved crimes in Gray Harbor." Then she indicates a few other spines, "These are more specific to landmark and founding families." Stepping back she folds her arms across her slim chest. "Anything in particular you were hoping to find?" Her voice is quieter than it was in her conversation with John about the news. But she's not whispering by any means.

"Obligated, maybe," Garrett suggests, lips in a thin, vaguely distasteful line as he considers his options. He ponders for a few moments, and reaches out for the third, presumably the most reality, fact-based book. "No idea. Just trying to play catch-up and figure some stuff out. Maybe find a friend," he says in a vaguely resigned tone, accompanied by a small shrug. Then manages a small smile over at the show-runner. "So. About that library card? I feel like I'm going to want to check out some lighter reading, too," he ventures.

Obligated. Harper has a demeanor that suggests she soaks everything in. Garrett's expression is just as telling. Maybe more. "Catch-up and figuring 'stuff' out," she echoes with a faint, wry smile. "I don't know that the history of Gray Harbor's sordid past will help you find your friend, but I do wish you good fortune and all sorts of answers." Her gaze is ready when he meets it once more. "Library card? That I can do with the best of them. All I need is proof of residence -- most people bring a water bill -- and a photo id and you'll be set. The GHPL has all the light reading you might desire. And perhaps a bit that you wouldn't enjoy at all. We aim to please." She lifts one of her hands from her folded arms and waves it expressively to accompany those last words.

"Probably not, but I think I'd rather ease into things than dive in head first," Garrett responds as he holds onto his book selection. "Right. Yeah. Proof of residence. Can I put this on hold and come back later to handle the paperwork?" he asks, holding the book up. The hand-wave draws Garrett's eyes in a brief glance around the library, but further reading material isn't a high priority just then. "Mind if I ask how long you've been show-runner here?" he asks in an abrupt change of subject, head tilted curiously.

Harper listens to Garrett's vague reply. She moves a step closer and lowers her voice to a soft murmur, "If you let me photocopy your driver's license and are willing to leave me a cell phone number, I'll check it out to you today. I like keeping the library on the edge of anarchy." She pauses for effect, then adds, "Either that or I have a sense for people. And I don't like keeping people separated from books they are interested in reading." He asks a more personal question and the librarian shifts her weight to one hip and crosses the other foot in front of the one with more weight, at the ankles. "About seven and a half years. Why?"

"Sounds perfectly reasonable to me," Garrett concedes, lowering his voice in turn to match the faux-conspiratorial tone. He gives a small shake of his head when asked why he asked. "Just curious. Head librarian usually conjures images of gray-haired, taciturn, older woman. You appear to be none of those." Garrett pauses and gives a greatly exaggerated look of suspicion. "Not a vampire, are you?" he asks. "Because if you are, an address and phone number don't constitute an invitation inside," he teases.

"Oh, Garrett," Harper replies mildly though not really patronizing somehow. "My taciturn moments cause third degree burns. I'm so taciturn, I go entire days at a time without speaking." She remains standing with one heeled ankle crossed before the other, arms folded neatly across her be-cardiganed chest. "Or perhaps I simply like to keep people on their toes. It's so much more interesting to not be what is expected." A vampire? Harper arches a brow. "If I were a vampire -- daywalking and library-lurking -- do you think I would advertise?" Her ready smile reappears. "Oh, I'm quite certain they do constitute an invitation. So think carefully on how much you would like to take my book home today." Her book? She may be playing, or perhaps she's just eccentric enough to think of the books as all belonging to her." It's really quite difficult to tell given her demeanor.

"I'll endeavor to stay on your decidedly-less-taciturn side, then, Oh potentially-vampiric Show-runner," Garrett says with an exaggerated nod of his head that is just short of a bow. The information being an invitation gets a shrug. "Probably worse ways to go," he decides with a grin. "So, what does an occasionally taciturn head librarian do when she's not guarding her hoard?" he asks, waving around at the books.

Ah. That reply earns Garrett an amused and inclusive smile. "You say the loveliest things, Garrett." Harper's morning may have just improved vastly. There are patrons. Then there are patrons who put up with her. But rarely do patrons play along, and with such charm. "Absolutely worse ways to go. There are a number of them right there in that book, if I recall correctly. I may be a monster, but I'm not monstrous about it. Most of the time." What does she do when not librarianing? "You do assume that there is more to my life than this spectacular bibliotheque." Idly tapping a finger against her folded arm she considers Garrett for a few long moments. "For the most part I seek out interesting people and try to do unusual things. This --" she continues wryly, once again, "-- is no easy endeavor in Gray Harbor. First, one must seek out such people. And then, assuming you find them? Then there is the creative conundrum of what there is to do nearby that classifies as unusual. It keeps a bookish vampire on her toes, to say the least. And you, Garrett. You're not from Gray Harbor." That's her theory and she's sticking to it. "How did you end up here in my library looking for tales of the past? Do you have a taste for living on the dark side?"

"I try," Garrett says with another small nod. Amusement continues to light his eyes as he listens, corners of his mouth tugging upwards as his smile grows. "Oh, come now, I've yet to meet a boring person since moving here," Garrett counters. Pause. "...which, to be fair, has been barely half a year," he concedes. "It's good that immortality isn't growing overly boring for you, though. Things still keeping you on your toes." He laughs quietly at the guess he's not from Gray Harbor. "You're right, but you'll forgive me if that deduction isn't overly impressive," he teases, playing up his accent again. "As for what brings me here... a friend went missing. I suspect the local weirdness and figure there's nowhere better to start some independent research," he answers with a small shrug.

A handful of men and a couple women in business attire arrive in close succession and head up the stairs. Harper swings around to take account, smiling at those who make eye contact with her. "Mission statement time, Henry?" A silver-haired man in a dark grey suit nods. "Miss Price, feel free to join us and bring some of your lively manner to our tedious meeting." Harper reaches out a hand to pat the man on the arm as he passes by. "Perhaps I'll scrounge some coffee from the break room and interrupt around lunch. You've got this, Henry. Learning. Children. Best interests. It's just a matter of wordsmithing, right?" The man chortles and then follows the others up the stairs.

Turning back to Garrett, Harper sets her hands upon her hips and contemplates him. "Half a year can be an eternity if the circumstances are right. Regardless, it's certainly enough time to begin to get a 'feel' for things around here." A beat. "Do you sleep well?" What an odd question accompanied by a sharp gaze.

But Garrett's laughter warms another smile from Harper. "Well, I'm certain you hear it all the time, but that accent is rather delicious." An amiable posture. "Your friend is fortunate to have someone like you working to find them. And a belated welcome to Gray Harbor. What do you do when you're not searching and researching?" The small play on words teases her smile wider. The shrug tips her back toward something serious. "Do you have any leads?" There's an entirely different tone to the last question.

"Sleep? Well enough. On the nights I don't sleep well, well..." Garrett trails off with a frown. that makes it clear that those nights are typically not pleasant. "No leads yet. She just said she was off to check something out, which, knowing her, means.... nothing a reasonable person pokes around at," he says with a small sigh. But his mood shifts at the comment on the accent. "Mmm, I might start a podcast of me just reading the dictionary," he says solemnly. He gives a vague wave north when asked about his other activities. "Search and research more, among other things. I'm a park ranger up at Olympic, so... bit of everything up there," he answers. "When I'm not at work or dealing with things better left alone, anything music. Have you heard of Lowered Expectations?" he asks, tone hopeful.

On the nights he doesn't sleep well? Harper nods. "Those are rocky, aren't they?" As if they would have had the same bad dreams? Leads? "You'll pick up a trail. You strike me as the tenacious sort." Reading the dictionary. Harper laughs; it's a quiet but melodic sound. "I'm sure you'd collect plenty of listeners. But some Neruda or Whitman? Now that would be something worth listening to." Abruptly he shares his means of employment. "A park ranger. That sounds like a spectacular job. What do you find you spend the most of your time doing? I mean, ranging, of course. But aside from that." Harper furrows her brow. "That's either a pragmatic dating app or realist cult, yes?"

"They are," Garrett agrees with a heavy sigh. A small shrug at her confidence in his abilities. "I'll certainly try. I'm no expert in these things, so...." He trails off, falling quiet a moment, giving his shoes undue attention before he looks back up, amusement creeping back into his expression. "I suspect most things would draw a bigger audience than the dictionary, so you're not wrong," he grants her. He looks crestfallen at the guesses regarding Lowered Expectations. So crestfallen, in fact, that it almost has to be exaggerated. Especially if the grin that appears a moment later is any judge. "Well, local band, so.... maybe a bit of both," he muses, head angling thoughtfully. "Are you one for music?"

Harper spends a few long moments contemplating the depths of the darkness of some Dreams. He'll try. "You are an exceptional friend. I wish you all the luck and insight." She's right by not being wrong. Harper laughs quietly. "About Neruda and Whitman? Can't be wrong there. It's just not possible." Oh, that crestfallen look! Harper frowns faintly. A grin follows and she steps forward to lightly punch at Garrett's bicep. "I see how it is. You are a bookish-vampire's nemesis. Manipulating her dribs and drabs of empathy for your own amusement." A local band. She lifts the punching hand to push a strand of her dark hair behind one ear. "You? You play in a band, too?" Searcher-for-missing-persons. Silver-tongued park ranger. Sometimes musician? "I find music enjoyable, yes. Are there people who do not?" Harper sounds dubious. "Do you sing or play an instrument, or both?"

"Thanks," Garrett says softly of the well wishes, recoiling dramatically at the punch. "Mmm, I'm a ranger. Keeping the regular folks safe by foiling the creatures that live in the shadows is part of the job," he intones, a solemn nod given. "I do! I play bass. Some backing vocals, but not a lot because it's a lot harder to play bass and sing at the same time than one would expect," he answers. "What sort of music is a vampire-librarian partial to?" he asks, leaning forward slightly.

Harper drops her hands from her hips to clasp them together behind her back. "But I love the creatures. Certainly they're not always the antagonists." Say it isn't so! Garrett plays bass. "So you have talented fingers. And a singing voice. Does the charm not end? Have some compassion for the women -- and certainly some of the men -- of Gray Harbor, Ranger Garrett." What kind of music? "Oh, I like a little of just about everything. Sometimes it depends on who I'm listening with. But I suppose if I was hard-pressed, I'd choose acoustic. Is there such a thing as acoustic bass?" The librarian smiles, affecting a hopeful expression. She doesn't back away from that questioning lean, tipping her brows up again with the query.

"You're right, of course. Sometimes the creatures need protecting from the people, too," Garrett agrees with a nod. He quirks an amused eyebrow upward at the demand of compassion. "What makes you think I'm not compassionate?" he asks with a faux-frown. Acoustic bass? That gets a nod... and a shrug. "It is, but they lack the projection of an acoustic guitar, so I don't have one. If I'm in an acoustic sort of mood, I'll just play guitar instead," he explains. "Favorite artists?" he inquires. "Acoustic is... a broad answer, to say the least."

Harper nods with some solemnity to the idea of protecting animals. Apparently Harper is pro-wildlife. "I think you may just be accidentally unthinking. Unleashing that accent, musical talent, a soul of tenacity and unflinching loyalty, and a touch with the animals upon the unsuspecting denizens of Gray Harbor? Why, it's almost a crime. What chance do any of them have? None. I think none," she answers her own rhetorical question with a mirthful expression. "And you play regular guitar, too." She sighs audibly. "I can think of a half dozen friends to fix you up with off the top of my head. But, no. Wait. Are you keeping yourself for your missing woman? Tragically romantic."

Harper's brown eyes sparkle. Is she teasing or serious? It's difficult to tell. Specific artists? "Well, obviously James Taylor. He's a classic and hard to outdo. I saw David Wilcox in concert once and I'll never be the same. Jason Mraz is fun if you're in the right mood. Regina Spektor has some nice acoustic pieces. I need a playlist in front of me, so I can go on at length. Take most classics and turn them acoustic, and I'm a fan. But I'm also a huge Mose Allison fan. He's a bit of a different genre, though. Bluesy jazz." She says this as if she's pretty certain Garrett isn't into Mose.

"I can try to do an awful southern drawl instead, if that will help, but I think I might actively repel people then," Garrett says with a grin, looking amused at the list of friends apparently needing fixing up with. "Hmmm, no, while that would make the better story, this would be more like looking for a lost sibling than lost lover. Still tragic, less romantic," Garrett clarifies. He nods along with the artists listed, though his eyes only show recognition occasionally. "...right, here's your chance to dock points. I've heard of James Taylor, Jason Mraz and Regina Spektor. The rest...." He trails off, shaking his head with a somewhat blank look.

With a beckoning crook of her finger, Harper leads -- if he follows -- Garrett back over to the circulation desk. She pulls a ring of keys from a drawer and unlocks another, deeper drawer. From there she pulls out a cell phone. Her purse must have been in the drawer. She knocks the drawer shut with her knee and swings around the desk to push herself up to a seat atop it and browses through her phone. Apparently she's going to play music for the man from her phone right there in the middle of the library. "Okay. First David Wilcox. This one's called 'Language of the Heart'." She plays it. It's soft, romantic, poetic. And the story it tells!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JdFoG0y-o8A

She smiles at him, watching him listen. "And for something completely different, I don't even know where to start. But I don't think there's anywhere you can go wrong with Mose. Let's try this one." She pulls it up. The words say 'Back on the Corner'. What plays softly in the library's vaulted room is jazz-meets-blues, classic, delicious, evocative. Harper watches Garrett through the whole thing, gauging his reaction, ready for just about anything. There's a challenge sparkling in her brown eyes. She bounces ever so slightly to the melody, tipping her head back and forth with some of the lyrics.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6YFS1plN0U

Garrett tilts his head, intrigued as he's beckoned and follows accordingly, watching a phone get produced and a touch of anticipation lights his features. When Harper settles atop the counter, he leans sideways against it facing her and the phone. His expression turns serious as be listens, brow furrowed a bit, Very Serious Thinking clearly happening. A finger taps as he picks up the rhythm, nodding along... and he says nothing as the next song comes on. It doesn't take long for Garrett to find himself nodding a bit more enthusiastically with the next selection. Dancing would be an exaggeration, but he's definitely bouncing, if only slightly, with the music, and looking pleasantly surprised when it ends. "Well. Guess I know what YouTube rabbit hole I'm falling down later," he says, flashing Harper a smile.

Harper gifts Garrett with a transcendent smile. He listens to her music. A musician! And he might have liked at least one of the pieces. "Oh, I can't be held responsible for the journey Mose will take you on. But I'll be delighted to know you got on the train." Harper's smile lingers in response to his as she lowers her phone to her lap and breathes a happy sigh. "You know you want to tell me when your next performance is. I'll bring my boyfriend and an assortment of women or men for you to choose from!" Harper the matchmaker. Librarian. Vampire. Musical Salieri. The things she has in store for the ranger, should he accept the offer.

"Im looking forward to the trip!" Garrett responds without hesitation, still smiling. The smile shifts slightly, then, delight turning to faint amusement. "Well, if we knew when our next show was, I'd be happy to tell you. As for hosts of possible romantic interests, you'll forgive me if I'm not overly eager. My romantic life has been... confusing since coming to town, so..." He trails off, shrugging. "But by all means, bring people! All the people!" he makes sure to add, smoking brightly once more.

Harper's own smile hits shadows when Garrett's wattage goes down. "You don't have to be eager. How would you be eager for someone you don't know exists yet?" Harper considers Garrett. "Confusing. Confusing doesn't sound good. But that's where I was last summer. It happens. I promise it happens. It happens when you're not looking. At least it did for me. So," She reaches out and nudges his nearer shoulder with the palm of her hand. "Stop looking! Trust the Harper. The Harper knows all. And she only takes too much blood now and then." She's got her phone right there. But this must be the line. She's in her place of employment. Halfway doing her job with the delightful musician-ranger-hero she's just met. It's not her place to ask for his number. Not. Her. Place.

"Oh, it's not that awful. It's just...." Garrett ponders a moment, then shakes his head. "No, when it's not being weird it's been good. Schedules just are being uncooperative lately, so maybe confusing wasn't the right word. I don't know." Garrett gives up, shrugs. "Consider the Harper adequately trusted, though. I'm mostly sure I won't end up a dried up husk, so that's good enough for me," he says, glancing down at the shoulder nudge then back up with a smile. And then glances over at her phone. "You know, if you ever wanted to meet up somewhere more conducive to extensive musical sharing than a library, I also have a phone. I bet we could use them to arrange such a thing?" he suggests.

Harper watches Garrett inquisitively as he trails off what he was saying. What is it?! "Weird. Good. Uncooperative. Indecisive." She gets the last descriptor in there, teasing. Maybe Harper actually is like this. Maybe it's not a front or a facade. Is that even possible?

He gives up? He shrugs! "He trusts me, foolish-- I mean wise stranger. You'll find that library visits will always bring you unexpected things. I promise that in my library this is always the case." Harper leaves her phone atop her skirt-clad lap and rests her palms down on the edge of the desk on either side of her legs, listening avidly to the statement that begins with the ever-engaging 'you know'.

"There is somewhere more conducive?" She lowers her voice to that hushed whisper she probably ought to have been using all this time. "Bloody hell!" Whispered! "My library is broken!" She reaches up to clasp one hand over her heart as if mortally wounded. "The pain. The tragedy." The faux-mournful words resolve to low laughter and her brown eyes sparkle. "That sounds like fun. I'm ready to expand my musical horizons." She considers him. "You mean we both have phones?" She tips her head to rest her cheek for a moment against her shoulder. "Give me a number and I'll text you so you have mine." It works nicely that way.

"Yes," Garrett agrees with a nod to the list of descriptors, then more amusement as she 'corrects' herself. "Hm. Well. Point of interest, I'd be more useful alive long term than I would be for one decent meal," he points out. "Just food for thoughts." Pause. "...or thoughts regarding future food. From food, no less." He grins, then looks around at the library. "Broken seems excessive. It seems to be doing its job rather well. Holding books. Being helpful. I just think there are better ways to listen to music than phone speakers," he consoles while producing his own phone. The lock screen is definitely a Hamilton 'Rise Up' image as he rattles off his number.

If her demeanor is any indication, Harper is enjoying the conversation with this new acquaintance. It does beg the question of what sort of service the rest of the public receives when they happen upon her when she's not in the middle of a half dozen other things. Or maybe it doesn't matter how many things there are.

Garrett would be more useful alive long term. "Hmm. I'll take that under advisement," Harper murmurs mildly. "Alright. I'll concede that there are better places and means of listening to music. Point: Marcus." He produces his phone and Harper lifts hers back up and preps it for a new number. She types in his name as 'Garrett the Guitarist'. His number is then entered deftly. Immediately thereafter she texts him.

(TXT to Garrett) Harper : Librarians can be hazardous to your health, but they can also make your life far more interesting. Be kind to vampires. And books.

Garrett gives a solemn nod when his advice is given fair consideration, watching Harper tap away at her phone, then looking expectantly at his own, which buzzes obediently a moment later. A brief, unnecessary response text, then he looks back up at actual!Harper, as opposed to her phone self. "On the subject of better musical venues: while I am, in fact, willing to invite your potentially vampiric self into my home for such a thing, you should say something now if you don't like dogs, because I currently have three," he warns. "So, if you're not a dog person... yeah."

(TXT to Harper) Garrett : Be kind to vampiric books. Noted.

Harper lowers her phone back to her lap, leaving his return text to read later. "If I'm not a dog person." Harper considers that for a few seconds too long. "Tell me, Garrett. Be honest: do I strike you as someone who would or would not like dogs?" Harper lifts her brows ever so slightly which is entirely offset by her small, inquiring smile.

"You strike me as a good person, and my mind just refuses to accept good people that don't like dogs, so I'm going to assume you do, in fact, like dogs," Garrett decides after a brief moment of contemplation and a decisive nod, though the hint of question in his return gaze is somewhat less certain than his words were.

"I find dogs to be dangerously irresistible," Harper offers up after Garrett's made his guess. "I was, only recently, emotionally manipulated by a Boston Terrier puppy wielded by my boyfriend with the intention of proving that deep down inside, despite my protestations, I did, in fact, want a dog. Let's just say that the puppy won from just about the second he was carried into my home." She shakes her head. "Up until that moment, it was a hard no." Harper exhales a sigh at her own lack of fortitude. "So I'm guessing that your dogs -- all three of them -- will someday soon be my buddies."

"They're irresistible, I promise. One is still mostly still a pup," Garrett hints with a grin before straightening up a bit. "But, we should probably handle the formalities of book checking and whatnot before I make my grand departure to go to work," Garrett says with a slightly resigned shrug, producing his wallet, and in turn ID. "A pleasure to meet you, Harper. I can safely say this is one of my most enjoyable library visits," he informs her with a sincere smile, laying book and driver's license on the counter to be handled before he departs.