Post by Grig Rosenthal on Jan 6, 2017 1:55:41 GMT
It's a mostly dead afternoon in the library, with the only patrons being a teenage Academy student in front of the front desk and Gregory Rosenthal behind it. "Do you have Pale Fire?", they ask. Greg glances up from the storyboard he was designing and mumbles, " I think so. I'll have to check the database." His hand glides over to the computer mouse, and his body swivels to face the screen, lights flashing on his face in blue and white. "Do you need it for anything in particular?", he queries. "Yeah, it's part of my American Literature class", they reply. "My professor is wanting us to write a thesis on the interwoven nature of the immigrant experience in literature from the political or economic standing of our choosing, and I decided on Pale Fire". Greg does not look away from the screen. " Okay, I found it. 813 NAB.If you like, I can get it for you, for a nominal fee." The student's stomach drops. "What is it?" Greg smiles at the desk. "I'll do it if you give me your firstborn son." They blink. "Um, what?" He sighs to himself. "Sorry, long day. Here." He stretches his left arm all the way to the American fiction and, after tracing the middle row with his fingers, grabs the 14th book on the shelf and retracts his arm. As soon as his hand is just 3 feet away from the desk, Greg's arm fall's out of its socket, the elbow banging against the edge of the desk. "Ow." The student grabs the book out his hand and hands it to him to scan. Blushing, gaze averted, Greg checks the book out and they leave, Pale Fire in hand. "Well, that was f***ing embarassing." With gritted teeth and teary grunting, Greg shoves his arm back into his socket, leaving fingerprint bruises to compliment the larger one by his elbow. He sighs, simultaneously watching the door and continuing to sketch the outline of a lady's foot.