Laidan sneezed, tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, and settled deeper into the hard wood chair supporting her. A journal was laid open on the table, its pages seeming new but tattered beyond repair. Her name was sprawled neatly at the top of the page, followed by what looked like ingredients and a few paragraphs of neatly written cursive. A shallow porcelain bowl lay above the book, filled half way with water that seemed slowly pulsing with her breathing. A couple of white rose petals floated on the surface, one nearer the middle holding a small drop of what seemed to be blood. Small cuts on the tips of each middle finger seemed to prove this true.
Before Laidan continued, she pressed both fingers together, hoping pressure would stop the sting long enough for her to concentrate. Absently nibbilng the dry flesh of her bottom lip, the girl pulled a small amount of white powder and sprinkled it over her book. She closed the pages on it, backing up slightly as she lifted the bowl and poured the contents over it.
Nobody else was around to see the liquid dissapear as it touched the book. She was quite confident in this assumption. A small hissing sound, much like a gentle whispering on the air, had come and passed before the last droplette of liquid had vanished. Only the roses were left, laying completely dry on the cover. With a whispy grace she brushed the roses away and picked up her journal, tucking it neatly in her arms and against her chest as she stood up and stretched. She was admittedly relieved to see it was stil light outside, for she had been working in the dark just now. She couldn't have used candles, for obvious reasons, and looked forwards to seeing things without straining.

Laidan looked down at black boots as she walked, focusing on the rythme. They were her rythm, after all. Who wouldn't want to syncronize one's self with one's self? Her skirt was a kahki color, and had small pleats along the bottom. She used a long piece of black silk as a belt, letting the extra ends fall just above her knee. She wore a black turtle-neck that ended at mid-torso, and silver bracelets around each wrist that sounded like little bells as they moved. Her hair was tied loosely behind her back by a brown ribbon that seemed about to come out. Short strands of hair that she was unable to tame fell around her face and neck.
She gave no sign of looking up until she'd completely crossed the room, and there she stopped for what she imagined to be one of the silliest reasons.
She just felt funny.
She swept her head around, surveying the room curiously. She saw nothing out of place, but the hairs on the back of her neck rose gentley, and chills poured down her back. Laidan shivered, closing her arms around the book--not to protect it, but to seek comfort from it.
Felling unnerved, yet childish for being so, she began to casually walk back to her original location, running a finger along the books she passed by.

*Is she still inside the book store? I'll join with Darien or Coaltin if you don't mind.*

((

The answer is right there, if you read.

I don't mind at all. Welcome aboard? :tilt: ))

*Ah. I missed that part. I’m an airhead. Sorry. And sorry, this post is a little iffy...I’m not having a good night.*

Nobody else was around to see the liquid dissapear as it touched the book. She was quite confident in this assumption.

Confident in this assumption, but still very wrong. Coaltin happened to have seen it. And though it was a surprise to see it, he wasn’t shocked anymore that someone could make that happen. After all, only a month ago another girl had mended a book that Darien had incidently set fire to.

A few weeks prior to the day, Darien, Coaltin’s twin brother, had watched a murder occur. It seemed that the shock from such an experience had triggered something in Darien and he began to set things on fire with his mind. Both of these boys being uninitiate it had frightened them. They couldn’t understand it. So they’d spent a good amount of time in the book store trying to learn how to control it. They were figuring it out slowly, with a bit of help from that girl. She’d been curious if, because they were twins, Coaltin might be Pyro too. Nothings surfaced yet.

Coal had spent the past few weeks after school in this bookstore, sifting through books about fire or any other magic or element he could find that would help his brother. But now he was standing in the isle of books, holding a pile of old books that was almost too heavy for him to carry, staring through a gap at the girl. It was stunning to watch someone practice magic with such ease.

Coal was dressed in a pair of black shorts, some variation of hot topic pants, with rings and zippers, random pocket flaps with no pocket connected to it. The shorts fell an inch past his knees, showing a little bit of pale leg, and black leather Stanley work boots came half way up his calf, allowing two inches between boot and shorts. His belt was four strips of leather twisted into a tight braid with a silver buckle. His tee-shirt was a black, slightly baggy one with print across the front in red.

‘Imagine if I were your child’

Beneath it is the outline of a muscle shirt and on one wrist is a silver Timex, thirty-two dollar stop watch made of some metal that he assumed was aluminum. On the other wrist was a group of red and black rubber bracelets, the ring finger of that hand bore a black ring with silver writing. ‘Coaltin.’ His face has that adolecent cuteness, his forehead speckled with only a few pimples but other wise unmarred. His hair is spiked up and short, so blonde it would be mistaken for bleached and his eyes so blue they made the sky look dark. This might be mistaken for contacts, but he wore none.

He stood in the isle watching her get up and walk away. He was nearly tempted to ask her how she’d done it. If she could teach him. It would be nice to know, a nifty trick to learn. He cocked his head when she turned around and went back. What was she doing?

Suddenly he was aware that the books in his arms were becoming too heavy and his elbows were beginning to ache. He walked to the end of the isle and then towards her table to sit them down on the edge and gaze at her penetratingly with those blue eyes, a look that clearly said ‘I know what you just did’ but his childish face held no threat of ‘telling’ on her.

Laidan started at the sight of him, nearly dropping her own book before clutching it tightly to her stomach, one hand lingering just above the pocket of her skirt like an assasin's hand would linger over a dagger. She looked over him quickly, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Of course he had seen her. He didn'tseem surprised. I wouldn't be either, she reasoned. Not anymore.

Slightly curious as to how she could have lowered her defenses enough to have been unaware of him in the room, she opened her mouth again to speak. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she closed them halfway and gave a soft humming noise to herself-- a sound she made often when caught in an odd situation. He didn't seem about to bring the event up, and she wasn't about to tell if, by any chance, he hadn't seen her. She had to think quickly, or she felt she did, because a few moments had already passed and she was still just standing there.

"Hi."
She gave a timid grin, and blushed at herself. How stupid! She fiddled with a dog-eared page that protruded slightly in the book, and let her glance sweep the room, as if she would find a script written on the walls. She could only think of one other thing to say. In such a situation, it was hard not to blush. She felt like a fish between a rock and preditor. Not much else to do...
"I'm Laidan."

Before she had said it, she knew she'd look like an idiot. Now she truely felt like one, too.

((Forgive me. I'm on a library computer, and my ride's waiting outside. Hope it's not too crappy.))

She didn’t look like an idiot. Maybe to someone else. Someone older. But he’s only fifteen and she’s responded exactly how a fifteen year old would expect her to respond. After all, that’s how teenagers talked to each other. They didn’t have to bother with adult nonsense. Didn’t care why someone wanted to keep a secret. Didn’t want to know. They Only want to know what that secret was. He’d expected her to say hi. He’d not expected her to give a name but that was nice.

He watched her eyes sweep the room. Coaltin’s no idiot. She knew she’d been caught. He knows she’s looking for one of two things. Either an escape route or if anyone else like him had been watching her. He decided on the later since she offered her name it didn’t seem she’d be ignoring him. He shook his blonde head, nearly white spikes gelled so they hardly move.

“No one else saw.”

No one else except the workers and a lingering person in the back corner was even in the store. He tipped his books onto the table, freeing his arms of their heavy cargo. He held out one hand. Typical boy hand.

“I’m Coaltin James.”

((Posh! It wasn’t crap at all! I do that too though, go to the library and have to reply faster then I’d like.))

(( o_O You're flattering...*SQUISHES* I like you. :heart: :heh: ))


Laidan cleared her throat lightly, looking at the offered hand for a moment. She shifted for a moment, extended her own, and shook it quickly before taking her hand back to set her book on the table as well. She let her gaze rise and fall as she analyzed him, then turned her head to cough. Obviously, she wasn't used to social situations...

"So...What books do you like?"
That was all she could think of at the moment, but she guessed it was better than "Hi, I'm Laidan". If he was at a bookstore, he had to like some kind of book, right? She shifted her wieght and nibbled the inside of her bottom lip. She had decided almost instantly to ignore his comments.
Of course nobody was watching...
Than again, if nobody had been watching to begin with, she wouldn't be talking to this guy.
"It looks like you've a rather heavy selection..."
She motioned to the books he had set down, and pulled a chair out. If she stood any longer, she'd just die. Not only had he seen, but she was inquiring about books...The lamest thing she'd talked about since the laundry incident. That one had been with a rather peppy-looking girl. She shuddered at the hesitant whine of the girl's voice, remembering that she used to be one of those rich girls.
So, she sat down and smoothed her skirt, pulled the table closer to her stomach instead of vice versa, and layed her arm over her journal in an absent-minded gesture of protection. A typical reaction, yes, but as a teen her self-worth was crushed under the weight of embarrassment.

He stood still while she looked him over. His parents were all about injecting ones self into a conversation, make your opinions known, if you talk to an adult you should act like a young man. All that jazz. But to them, first impressions mattered and while in the presence of any of his father’s potential (or current) clients they were to first be seen and not heard. It rubbed off into daily life and so he let her look him over as if she were his father’s potential client. Flashed a smile. Dropped his hands to his sides. He had unusually good posture for a fifteen year old. Both of them did.

No. Darien liked books. Coaltin would rather be at the mall flirting with girls. He was interested in girls, Darien was interested in books and sports. But he was indeed in the bookstore. Studying for his brother’s, who happened to get stuck working at the office with dad, benefit. It was probably good that Darien was working. It kept his mind off of things. Coaltin started to shrug and stopped himself. Not good manners.

“I’m not sure. Don’t usually read much outside school.”

It looks like you've a rather heavy selection...

His hand involuntarily touched to cover of the book on top of the pile.

“Studying.”

If Coaltin noticed the protective gesture towards her journal he didn’t let her see it. Instead he touched the back of a chair, silently asking if he could sit too. With her. At her table. Her table because she’d been there first. He asked without words because it seemed that simple gesture from a teenager was more polite then asking please.

He wanted to know what she’d been doing. How to do it. But he didn’t want to run her off with questions. Didn’t know how to subtly inquire into her business.

((Being liked is a very good thing.))

Her eyes darted from the journal to the chair, the chair to him, then back to the chair as she nodded. Actually, she admitted, the company wouldn't be all that uncared for. He had a rather friendly smile, which tended to set her at ease instantly.

"Studying...For, like, a job or something..?" She tilted her head innocently. Or tried...

Maybe she was pushing it, but had a feeling that he was, at least in a slight bit, like her. She shifted rather uncomfortabley, as typical for somebody struggling. And she was struggling inside of herself, unsure of whether to come right out and face the fact he'd seen her...Or try to dissmiss what he saw as illusion. Basically, it was a lie against the truth.

She looked down at her journal and decided to wait and get the pleasantries out of the way first. It was no big deal. Neither seemed in a hurry to have her spill. So she displayed her own little grin, neither to withdrawn nor inviting. Just a grin to keep him guessing. A little toss of her head as strands got in her face forced her to avert her gaze, and she kept it away, seeming almost thoughtfully at the books he had on the table. She didn't concentrate on the titles-- actually, she really didn't think about it. She didn't know she'd been staring at anything specific, either. She just kinda looked -past- everything, and her gaze had been drawn to them.
She looked back at her journal and grinned again, resting her arm more loosely across it. she even played with one of the rose petals she'd previously brushed away.

I think this is the first time I've relaxed in a bookstore since I actually had a clique she mused, grinning to herself. She hadn't tried to truthfully. She'd been to busy covering things p to have "fun"...infact, she couldn't look at amusing things as she used to anymore. Dry humor made no sense. Or any other kind, really.

"I guess you're curious..." She made a gesture towards the book infront of her, giving a slight sigh. She wasn't ready to give all the secrets up yet...so she'd have to improvise.

(Aaaack...You've jynxed me...you posted beautifully...and mine turns out...baaad...)

He watched her eyes dart, smiled when she nodded, seated himself. He slid the pile of books back further away from the edge and took half the pile and set it next to the original stack, putting a stop to the tall teetering tower the threatened to topple over.

”Studying for my brother.”

Darien was certainly ‘like her’. In a way. He was magic too. But she had a choice. Darien didn’t. Darien’s magic was in him, uncontrollable. Darien and Coaltin were much closer then most brothers. They were twins and so raised as such. Meaning always together, dressed the same, treated the same. They’d grown used to it. Now it was questionable that either of them could live without the other. Unknowingly, Coaltin was like her too.

Humor, on the other hand, made perfect sense to him. Of course it did. He was a fifteen year old boy. He wasn’t a depressed, moping, or spoiled brat. Just an average teenager who did average teenage things like listen to music and tell stupid jokes that required humor (and a bit of imagination) for one to even understand.

I guess you’re curious...

Coaltin smiled. He wasn’t about to lie. Not if she was going to bring up the topic.

“A little.” Ok so a lot.

((Again I cry “Posh!” Nonsense. It was fine. But you will firgive mine it’s hurried appearance I hope.))

Now that he had admitted it, she had no choice but to show him. And now that she thought of it, she didn't mind showing of. With a secret grin, she stood up and slid the book closer to the guy, standing half behind and half beside him as she opened the book on the table. While the cover looked fairly knew, as I told you before, the pages looked tattered. She opened it...and the pages were blank. She even flipped through the little journal...revealing clean cream-colored paper each time.

When she though to have confused him enough-- she was being oddly overprotective over an empty book-- she took a handfull of white powder, and begand gentley sprinkiling it across the page closest to him. As the powder hit the page, it turned quickly to ashes, and then were swept away by Laidan's free hand.

"A nice way to keep secrets..."
She mumbled, then returned the remaining powder to her pocket and sat down, leaving the journal behind hesitantly for him to see.
"That specific page is the same thing I just did...well, plus how to start it in the first place. It's easy if you can track down the powder."
Maybe she was bragging slightly about her ingredients, but she'd succesfully remained modest to an extent, right?

She smiled at her journal, actually quite tickled about how well it worked. She'd made the "spell" up herself. (She hated calling it a spell. Wiccans had spells. She had routines.)

"Do you...do anything like that?"
Still hesitant about how to put it, she stumbled around her words, rather upset with herself for not thinking up better terms. She'd been creating her own routines for a year, she should've been able to think of something by now...