Altan knew better. She had been going to the University for nearly four years now. It was a rookie mistake to put off the essay until the last minute. And it was an even stupider mistake to not save your work every chance you got. So when her computer decided to pick that exact day to fry and give out partway through her fifth page... Well she might have been able to salvage something, but it was better idea to race across from her apartment, just outside campus, to the library where she had promptly sat her self down near a computer and began typing furiously.
It was around eleven o'clock when she had rushed in. The library was only supposed to be open for another hour. She had to work quickly. There had been a few other frantic souls trying to cram before their midterms, but Altan did not let anything distract her.
Time was moving far faster than she wanted it to. People were clearing out, but she kept typing. She was going to get as much of this damn essay done as humanly possible in the short period of time.
Her wrists were aching along with her head and her left thumb that was forced to slam down the sticking space bar after every word.
Her clothing was a bit subdued at the moment she had been in a rush and simply grabbed a dark blue hooded sweatshirt to toss over her pajamas ( a striped tanktop and a pair of rather short white cotton shorts decorated with chess pieces.) For god's sake she was barefoot. Well no one had noticed yet and hopefully no one would comment until she finished this damn essay.. Oh god only a conclusion now. She was so close...
Dana's occasionally asked to close up. It's not much of a job - lights off, computers off, everything in the right place for whoever's opening up next morning. The windows stick, sometimes, and occasionally you have to convince someone that whatever they really, really need done doesn't need doing until tomorrow.
That's the tricky part. (There are horror stories of sordid deeds in the stacks, but Dana's only ever stumbled across sleeping kids, which she finds kind of endearing as long as they aren't drunk.)
If there were any way for Keaton to keep the library open all night, Dana would have lobbied for it. Bake sale, animal sacrifice, whatever. As it is, they kick out non-students in the early evening, and leave the rest to muddle together as much as they can until midnight.
It's currently 12:20am. Dana's closed off the upstairs study areas, locked the windows, straightened the stacks and placed the reshelving carts. Most of the lights are off, and she's stuck the 'sorry, not here, try later' sign on the door. She's spent the last twenty minutes clearing out the Holds list (they're supposed to be auto-pruning, but they aren't, and very rarely does anyone else do it), tidying, pacing, and blasting compressed air at the unoccupied keyboards, which are gross.
She knows that the library needs to be cleared out, in an intellectual 'this is my job and I'd rather not be fired' way, but there's a girl here in pajama shorts and bare feet and dyed hair, and she's managed to completely avoid Dana's clomping about and air-blasting and the increasing darkness.
Dana has work tomorrow, and early-afternoon classes, and it'd be nice if she could blast through another few chapters of the surprisingly bad novel for her North American Sci-Fi class. (Her future goal of some nebulous Library Science degree doesn't much dictate what she's supposed to take as an undergrad, and Dana has a semester full of excitingly unrelated courses.) It's getting cold, what with the heater in here being sub-par and set to 'let's try to avoid permafrost' at night, but Dana's at least wearing pants.
They're nice pants, so far as pants go. Black slacks, brown boots, brown bracers, beige 'really, I work here' shirt that doesn't do much to tone down the Fatal Exception Error blue hair. She eyes the girl's bare legs and feet in the least skeevy way possible, and wonders how badly one must need to do a paper to totally eschew foot protection. (She also wonders who would get in trouble if a patron stepped on a thumbtack and got tetanus, and if they sold sandals in the shop area.)
12:30 and Dana edges carefully closer, shutting down the computers around the girl who obviously really, really needs to finish whatever she's doing. Another five minutes and Dana's going to be wiping down her monitor with anti-static cloth. It isn't that Dana's trying to avoid conflict, or be passive-aggressive, she's just hoping that Barefoot Girl finishes in the next few minutes and Dana gets to be the good guy while also not having to explain any of this to her superiors.
And down went the final key stroke on her essay as she mumbles something that sounds curiously like 'take that you fucker.' She probably hits it a bit harder than absolutely necessary, but her body is so filled with adrenaline and endorphins (that only a college student who finished a eight page essay worth one fourth of her grade can possess ) that strength is not even a factor she concerned herself with. She quickly hits Ctrl P to get her essay to print out and while it was printing she saves a copy and emails it to herself.
Only after she has finished does she lift her head. Her pretty hazel eyes have a distinctive look of relief and exhaustion. Pulling up the hood of her sweatshirt she allows herself to finally glance around the library; more than half the lights are off and someone that Altan can only assume works there was cleaning up a few monitor screens away.
For the first time since she entered into the library she glances at something on the monitor other than her paper; the corner clock reads 12:45.
"Shit." She mumbles rubbing at her eyes and brushing some of her lime green hair out of her face. She has an adorable look of confusion and awe.
"The library closed almost an hour ago." She realizes how dumb this is right when it exits her mouth, because obviously the girl knows that the library closed or was supposed to be closed. But here Altan is with her essay done, and done surprisingly well.
"I am so sorry," she begins and various other apologies spill past her pierced lips.
"I didn't realize what time it was I thought someone would have come over and told me to get the hell out..." She offers the other girl a sheepish grin and then she finally notices the girl's hair. Her own head tilts in a look of slight recognition.
"Is that Manic Panic After Midnight Blue?" She pushes the chair back and stands up. It's right about then she realizes she is in her pajamas so she zips up her sweatshirt in an attempt to appear more modest. It doesn't help much because the sweatshirt is one of her brother's and ends about an inch above her shorts simply making her shorts look shorter than they really are.
There's a little cheer inside Dana's head - something like 'we have lift-off', but more appropriate to triumphant paper-finishing. Vicarious paper-finishing, even. She scrubs a hand through her hair and puts on her best 'Hi, I work here, and I'm really glad you're done and why yes it is way past closing' face, watching as the girl stretches and gets her bearings.
Eye contact! Pretty, Dana thinks absently. She nods in the right places and is about to offer a 'really, it's okay, just don't ever do it again because the people who work here have to sleep' kind of assurance when she gets hit with the dye question.
Part of her wants to insist it's natural - she used to, when she was younger, when people were particularly insistent. She's since met a few too many Bayfielders who try to get away with that (really, naturally platinum-gold! I swear! Really, naturally rainbow!), so instead she just grins and nods, happy enough to do the subculture bonding thing.
"Mixed with some Shocking Blue and whatever else I had lying around." Dana's bathroom is filled with half-used bottles and tubs and root kits for various brands and colors and effects, all bought either massively on sale or donated half-used from friends. She's got the thrifty hair-coloring thing down, at this point.
"How about you? I can't do the guessing thing for greens, I've never had the courage to try that shade."
Dana steps toward the computer Barefoot Girl had been using, gesturing for permission to turn it off. She very, very politely does not check the poor girl out as she zips up her sweatshirt, and instead invests effort visibly appreciating the lime-green hair, because it is pretty striking.
Altan has a feeling she is unwanted and it would be much better if she just grabbed her papers and ran off. For some reason she doesn't. Maybe she is past the point of thinking properly due to sheer mental exhaustion. Or maybe there is just something about a librarian with bright blue hair that sparks her curiosity. And once Altan asks about the hair she seems to lighten up a bit.
"Well, it depends on whether or not I'm feeling cheap. There's this amazing hair dye I found in Amsterdam that's really pretty and fades slower, but I have to order it online and it takes awhile to ship and it's a tad more expensive. If I'm feeling cheap it's usually just Manic Panic, Electric Lizard mixed in with some of the blue to keep it from seeming to yellow." She offers the girl a half smile as she walks to the printer and grabs her stack of papers; she doesn't try sorting them out.
"I'm really sorry about keeping you here so late past closing. My computer decided to break halfway through this essay... Is there anyway I can make it up to you?" And it's right about then she realizes that she may in fact be flirting with the librarian. It's a bit of a surprise. because that is not her immediate reaction to most girls. She doesn't even like girls that much... right?
"I'm not sure about you, but this is about the time that I just stay up all night because my body will sleep through any alarm clock. Maybe I can buy you coffee or something? Or get you something to eat?" God. She sounds so stupid and she knows it. Of course the girl isn't going to want to go anywhere with someone with bright green hair who is in her pajamas. She has much better things to do than go anywhere with Altan.. But she has some sort of hope, because she bites the center of her bottom lip (as to avoid the two lip piercings on either side) and waits for a response. It might just be 'No way in hell,' but at least she tried.
