She hated being short.

Said short frame was stretched to it’s extent, raised up on tip-toes and one arm extended upward, her fingertips just barely brushing the bottom of the book on the top shelf, the other hand against a lower shelf because, lets face it, she isn’t a ballerina despite how graceful the feminine form can be, even on the most tippy part of the worn sneakers on her feet.

Lucia’s dark hair was pulled into a quick ponytail and she’d stopped home after work to change her clothing from the conservative slacks and collared shirt and comfortable for the first five minutes heels into the average college students care-free messy clothes. Her blue jeans had holes in the knees and one starting at one of the pockets, her white spaghetti strap shirt wouldn’t have kept her warm in a good blast of air conditioning, but the multi-stripped scarf around her neck indicates there is probably a jacket somewhere.

The book she’s striving so hard to reach (Why was it that the step stools all disappeared the moment a vertically challenged person entered the shop?) happens to be Dickens. Oliver Twist. She should probably read the book again before going to see the movie. Refresh her memory and all that jazz.

He's here for the books.

Romance mysteries, you know, like 'See How She Dies' and such, books like that. With the classics and even some newer ones. Many a person wouldn't expect him to be here for books like those, but maybe some did. He was quiet, polite, didn't try to draw attention to himself but couldn't help it just because of the energy he gave off. He moved like a cat, a graceful saunter, and had the aura of sensuality about him. He had a few said romance mystery novels in his arm. He loves Agatha Christie novels. He's walking about the book store, going through sections to see if there is anything interesting.

He was dressed like he normally was. Girl cut pants, faded denim with a studded belt. Collared shirt, basic white, unbuttoned at the top to reveal his upper part of his high torso, collar bone visible. Clean jawline, tan face surrounded by curls and waves that were falling over his shoulders - he hadn't bothered to tie it up. Classic converse shoes, black and white high tops. Barely visible under the pant leg that dragged under foot. Sleeves rolled up to elbows, no real jewelry besides a silver watch and a silver band around his middle finger.

The lighting was low enough, so he was able to push his glasses up, much like a headband they kept his dark hair out of his face. Dark brown, half-closed eyes looking around. Currently they were looking at a small woman who was struggling to reach a book, his face remained blank as he walked up beside her.

"Pardon me."

Easilly reaching, he grabbed the book - Oliver Twist - off the shelf and handed it to her.

"Nice choice."

He's rewarded one of her not so very rare small smiles when he approaches because he's certinlly taller then herself and is probably going to help her. Hopefully. There was one incident a few months back when a young man, probably still in highschool, had walked over and where she had thought he would help he actually removed the book from the shelf and proceeded to the counter to purchase the last copy of The Da Vinci Code.

She could have killed, she was so livid. She hated tall people for three hours after that.

The words Vertically gifted came to mind when she took the book.

"Thank you. All the step stolls disappeared on me." Lue folded the book into her arm and eyed his books. The low light in the shop made her eyes the same color, a hard to identify green-gray-maybe even brown color that darkness makes most peoples eyes look. In the light, one would be green and one would be a questionable hazel green.

"I'm not sure i can say the same. I've never actually read Agatha Christi."

He, of course, is smiling back at her. He really does love to smile. Cahan never does. Annabelle does all the time, but she's usually laughing loudly. He prefers smiles - real smiles mind you - over laughter, they are quiet but pleasant all the same. He's vertically gifted, but at times it can be annoying, like not being able to find a shirt or a particular pair of pants you like in your size because you have long legs and a long torso. And some people - not all - can be rude to you because they think you are looking down at them because you think you are better than them, when all you are really doing is looking down because you can't see them.

"Of course, a pleasure to help, having a little lady myself, I have an idea what it is like to be unable to reach things."

Said little lady happened to be running over, dressed in pink. Ribbons in her hair, little pink gems around her throat, and a lacy ruffled dress. She looks like a darling little doll. And she is looking up at the two. A small hand tugs on Leone's pants.

"Leone! Leone! Can I get a book too?"

She, like him, has a very strong Italian accent. Her voice though, is girlish and giggly, unlike his smooth, deep voice. She is a bit louder than him too. He winces at the volume, giving a gentle reply.

"Yes Annabelle, go find a good one if you want, and don't make any noise either. People are trying to read."

The girl, ecstatic, claps her hands, hugs his leg, and then runs off, giggling as quietly as she can to find a book. There must be some child area around here of some sorts, even if they are old fashioned ones. Maybe they have the Velveteen Rabbit...Leone shook his head, smiling softly, looking back at the girl.

"Pardon the interuption, I'm Leone Abandonato..." He offered her his hand, slender fingers, very gentle fingers. "And that girl was my dear Annabelle." Besides the dark skin though, and the accent, they look nothing alike. Cousins, or adopted child may come to mind. "And if you are interested in some mysteries, I do suggest you read at least one of her books to start off with. She is one of my favorites in fact."

She wouldn't think that being tall was bad at all. Her cousins spent half of their childhood reminding her that she couldn't reach the top shelf in the kitchen or they would steal her favorite shirt and put it on the shelf in the closet until she was forced to get the other cousin to get it down. But then, while being short was not desirable, it had it's benifits.

Pink. Pink came around the corner and stopped at him, tugging on his pants and asking questions. Lue was smiling. It's rather hard not to smile at children in the first place but this child (in all the pink) just made her grin.

"Lue Nicolet." I might add that her voice was tainted with the Italian accent as well. Italian or not (she is, mind you) when you grow up in Italy you can't help but leave with an accent. She took his hand. Her handshake is deceivable to her appearance. It was a tight, strong grip that was steady and completly void of any shaking. Manicured nails and hands that were smooth and moist, she apparently took good care of them. One day, she plans to help save people's lives with them.

"I do like Mystery, actually. I've been following Kellerman and Murray for a long time." She nodded in the vague direction the child had run. "She's adorable," the words brother and sister had struck her. But he could have adopted. Anything's posssible in these days and on this continent.

Everyone loves pink, yes?

Leone nodded as he shook her hand. She had a nice grip. His was strong too, but natural, rather than trying to show his strength. He is a very strong person, being a demon and all. His own nails are very likely to rival her's, healthy and smooth, they were long, but not unnaturally or unnattractively so. In their natural state, they are claws.

"Pleasure to meet you Lue."

A nod.

"Read them, enjoyed them, but Christi has my heart." A touch of his slender fingers to the place over his heart, smiling. "And thank-you, I care for the girl very much."

A soft chuckle. "Can be a handful at times, but I do care for her very much, almost as if she was my own."

Strong hand shakes from women aren't to show off. It usually just means they grew up with the male species. Manicured nails happen to be unpolished and short rather then long. ER's have amazingly similar rules concerning hands. They must be clean, no jewelry, and you may not keep them long or polished. People would complain if they found nail polish chips in their food and someone would not be happy to find a ring inside their stab wound.

"Maybe I'll check her out some time. Mystry's nice but the classics have my heart." She hoisted Oliver Twist up a little, putting her other hand on her hip and a finger sliding through the belt loop. "You were a handful as a kid too probably." She was. But her aunt and uncle would disagree (secretly this is because in comparison to her cousins, she was an angel). "It's easy to love kids." Then whose is she?

She's curious, you would be too.

He rarely paints his, unless Annabelle wants them to have matching fingernails. Leone happens to hate hospitals, only because of all the unhappy people. He rarely has sex with unhappy people, it brings him down too. He prefers to have sex with happy, healthy people. He couldn't have her job, he isn't fond of blood. Not even during sex.

Another chuckle as he looked at her book, nodding. "Indeed, and so I shan't force my opinion on you and tell you Mysteries are better..." A face. "Unlike some people I know..." A snort and he brushes back some of his hair out of his face.

"I was currently the youngest when I was born..." He shrugged. "I was told I was quiet and mainly kept to myself. I couldn't ask them because I have no idea where they are now. Have never kept in touch." He blinked, rubbing his chin. "I don't think I was a trouble."

Leone's parents had left him when he was about...50 years old. Still a baby in many ways. He chuckled, shrugging.

"Not all kids, I will tell you that."

She doesn't like blood but the life of an Emergancy Technician just calls to her. Maybe her dad was a nurse. Doubtful but it was possible. Anything was possible, that was the problem.

She laughed lightly, a smooth but not ringing sound. "Oh? Then I will return that favor and resist agreeing with you. They are better, but the classic things give you this feeling of first. After so many modern books they all start to sound the same." She didn't read mysteries often. When she was alone they made her paranoid and if Antonio knew she was reading one, he went to great lengths to try to spook her.

Something about the way he said that, I was currently the youngest, was strange to her. It didn't sound quite ...right?

"You didn't know your parents?" A light crease was almost a frown but not yet.

He gave a warm smile, "Very true, though I will tell you, I find Sherlock Holmes droll, fell asleep while trying to read it. And I haven't a clue why." Sigh and a shrug, smile still on his face. And it remained even when she asked about him and his parents. He wasn't really their child. More...spawn...spawn was a better word.

He shook his head.

"Can't even remember them. They probably aren't together anymore either." He shrugged. "But that is how life is, it doesn't bother me. Not interested in them."

He shifted, switching his books to his other arm. He really isn't interested. Meeting them will do nothing. They hadn't even named him most likely, probably just fitted him with a number, even possibly not ever doing that. He is over 300 years old. It doesn't matter anymore, it never has really. His eyes are soft as he looks at her, soft smile, gentle person. Completely unfazed by the information he gave her.

"What?" Her eyes widened, more light to them but you still can't see the differance. It's usually not noticable unless you really look for it. "Holmes was amazing. If only some one like that seriously existed." She grinned. How amazing it would be if the modern police force were half as competent as those in the stories.

"I see." The frown disappeared when he didn't seem concerned. "I didn't know mine either. I know about mom but...I confess to being interested in him. If only to have a name."

He nodded, rather solemn despite his smile.

"Many people are, no doubt, I can not blame you."

He looked over at Annabelle, who was chatting animatedly with another little girl dressed in a little white dress. They were giggling. He smiled.

"I found Annabelle in the middle of a road, on the outskirts of either Rome or Venice in a little village. She was dirty and not even dressed, barely three years old. The villagers didn't know who she was, possibly an orphan of some sort. So I took her and she's been with us ever since..."

A fond chuckle as they start to read a Barbie book that Annabelle had found.

Barbie. It's on my list right along with pink. And those bratz things.

She followed his gaze to the girl Annabelle and the smile returned, faint but there in the corners.

"She really is adorable." Not oh poor baby because apparently she was not an oh poor baby case. Sure she was abandoned but look who found her. Look who loves her. "My mom left me with my Aunt and Uncle. She probably had a good reason I guess. And I grew up well so..." She trailed off with an over exagerated shrug and a smile, turning her eyes back to him before looking past him at the table.

"I've been on my feet all day," and theres a chair. "You can join me," she offered, starting to move towards the table.