“Wake up!”
Kalon snapped her head up off her arms, blinking her heavily lined and eyeshadowed green eyes rapidly.
She sat at a wooden table that stretched far in both directions, one of several in the expansive area. The walls were made of even older wooden cases filled with books in various states of care. A massive globe sat just out of the corner of her eye.
“Awake now? I warned you not to stay out here last night.”
“Sorry, Grams.” Kalon stretched, shaking the gentle, wrinkled hand from her bare shoulder. “Is it time for work already?”
Grams pursed her lips. Her narrow shoulders slumped, defeated, and held out a metal bat to Kalon.
“You should have the mind to wear a cardigan at least if you start reading after supper.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
Grams frowned doubtfully. “I’ll make you a toast just so you have something in your stomach.” She paused her retreat. “Do go wash up first. You look a state.”
Kalon smushed her fingers into her cheeks as if to feel the condition of her face before leaving her spot. She retreated downstairs to her room through a small door tucked into a corner.
Her room was cramped with just a small bed, wardrobe, and narrow crate that acted as a bedside table. There was hardly room to shuffle around once the wardrobe door was opened, revealing a mirror.
The black liner she had put around her eyes yesterday was now smudged and smeared into the dark, purple eyeshadow making it appear as if she had black eyes from a broken nose. Her maroon lipstick was wiped across her pale cheek.
She licked her fingertips and vigorously rubbed at the smudges to assemble some sort of order. She stuck her fingers into the short, curly mop of purple atop her head, shaking it to loosen any tangles. She frowned at the fading color and pulled a lock straight to assess the length.
Kalon switched out her black, sleeveless corset top for a low cut gray top with black beading. It was enough of a change to call the outfit satisfactory.
She munched her toast on her way up the narrow stairs to the main floor, resting her bat on her shoulder. She waves the last bit in that air at the old man in the near distance.
“Morning, Gramps!”
Her hand fell as more of the lobby revealed Gramps was not standing alone, but facing two young men. Kalon’s smile fell as she recognized the guarded stance of the black-haired one.
“Ah, Kalon, good of you to start your morning with us.” Gramps ushered her to stand between him and the boys. “We have guests. And so early.”
“I see that.” She stared into the mismatched eyes pointed her way. “All right, Khoa? Bex isn’t with you?”
“He’s being stupid, tryin’ for a mid-life crisis early or something.” The black-haired boy shrugged. “Don’t know, or care.”
Kalon’s shoulders relaxed at Khoa’s response. He was in a good mood, not surly and wanting to start fights.
Khoa brought images of foxes into Kalon’s mind; an elegance and cuteness that played into inquisitiveness. There was a sharpness to his eyes that indicated he could be clever, and that he should never be backed into a corner.
He was the only person she had come across with a face piercing, whereas hers was a bar over her right eyebrow, his was a small, thin ring in his bottom lip.
Kalon frowned. “Where’s your piercing?”
Khoa’s hand covered the bandage that covered his bottom lip and most of the space beneath, touching his chin. His odd-eyes changed, hardening and narrowing.
“Always observant, ain’t you? You just standin’ and starin’ and only now realize I look different? Always off in your own head. Notice Bex ain’t here yet?”
“I noticed as soon as I walked–!” She stopped herself, taking a breath. “Sorry.”
Gramps cleared his throat loudly. “That’s enough greetings. As I said, Kalon will assist you. Just tell her the subject and she can narrow down your options.”
Khoa clicked his tongue. “I said it already, there ain’t a subject. He just wants to sit alone and grab whatever gets his attention.”
“You know that is not how this library operates.” Gramps brushed the pistol on his hip. “Do you take issue with that, boy?”
“Right now I do.” Khoa stepped forward. “I dare you.”
“Khoa, quit it. I ain’t….”
The young man with Khoa had hair so pale it looked as if it glowed in the light. There was a vacancy in his blue eyes, staring into nothing as his words failed him.
“I could always chaperone. That way should he think of a subject, I am right there ready to fetch it. Get him out quicker.” Kalon bounced the bat on her shoulder. “I can handle him should he try to steal or alter anything.”
Gramps silently relented, ushering Khoa towards the old, carved wooden doors.
Kalon tilted her head, offering up a small smile. “Hi, I’m Kalon Gousa, the assistant librarian.” Her smile faltered at the silence. “And you are…?”
“Innit….”
“Good to meet you. Come with me. I’ll escort you to the study chamber.”
She went back to the same table she had fallen asleep on. She pulled out the chair she had used, frowning as Innit sidestepped her and sat two over.
Innit had no piercings in his ears like she and Bex had. He had no facial piercings like she and Khoa had. She felt the jeweled bar through her eyebrow, furrowing.
“Did Khoa catch his lip on something?” She waited but Innit said nothing. “How’d you meet Bex? Or is it Khoa?”
“Grew up together….” Innit rested his head on his folded arms. “I reckon that’s all I got to say about it.”
His accent was similar to Khoa’s, so Kalon assumed that was which person he grew up with. He had an angular jaw and a tilt to his eyes that reminded Kalon of a cat. His pale hair was more lackluster on inspection; an indication that it had gone unwashed for a stretch of time.
“Just tell me when a subject pops to mind, and I’ll assist you.”
She paused for a sign that he had heard her, but none came. She drummed her nails on the table, tilting her head at the chips in the fuschia polish. Gramps would not be happy if she left this stranger to go get her nail polish. She busied herself chipping at it in an attempt to remove it.
She changed focus to her hair once she had chipped off the polish on three fingers. She felt the shaved sides, pulled at the curls on top. She had worn this haircut for three years, and had been dying it for the last two. A change would freshen up her life a bit.
She dug a short, black marker from the strap of her knee-high, heels boots. She removed the cap with her teeth and began doodling haphazard flowers on her arm.
“Do you stop fidgetin’?” Innit scowled her direction from his position on his arms. “I ain’t got a moment of peace since sittin’ down!”
“We’ve been here for hours. Look!” Kalon twisted awkwardly to point out an analogue clock wedged between two bookcases. “Do you see that there? Near three hours and you have not spoken nor shown any inclination of wanting something to read.”
Innit leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Got anything current, or y’all just keep molding piles of paper here?”
“How dare you! Our texts are in great care.” She scoffed. “What a dim view to only want the newest thing.”
“Dim?” Innit glared. “Stupid, right? Y’all with your stupid accent.”
“My accent? My accent!”
She faltered when a retort failed to come to mind. Innit had an interesting accent, unlike those she heard growing up and not only because he was from the United Americas. That accent was common enough that it was not unusual to hear it even outside the library doors despite them being just under three hours from Geneva Colony.
Kalon took a breath. “It depends how current you want your reading. Grams is our transcriptionist. Her ear is accurate, but it takes longer now for her to write up trending news clips.”
“She… watches and writes up everything?” Innit frowned. “Ain’t that a good way to go nuts?”
“You would think so, but, no, she has a method to it. Working only two days a week helps too.”
“Just two days….” Innit stared off. “What if something came up? Something that….” He shook his head. “It ain’t a thing. Just runnin’ my mouth.”
Grams had been working every day for the last three weeks, long into the night half the time, obsessing over the revelation coming from the United Americas. Kalon gleaned it related to President Washington, and did not care beyond that. She cared nothing for politics and abhorred gossip. She would read the final collection to have knowledge of what the subject was on the chance of someone wanting to read it. Grams was concise and blunt in her reports, so the work would not be too much of a chore.
“Is your interest in politics?”
“Absolutely not!”
“Ah, so it is Khoa and not Bex. I thought so.”
Innit snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching. He showed no further reaction and kept his eyes on the grain in the table, picking at it.
“Do you like imaginary stories or real stories?”
“Stories? I ain’t readin’ any type o’stories. What good is that?”
Heat flared up in her chest at his careless, nearly disgusted response. Her hands balled against the table, audibly scraping the wood and drawing his attention–his hackles raising in kind.
Kalon launched to her feet, causing him to flail about on his seat to keep from falling off.
“What point was there in your coming here? You care nothing for stories, histories. You seem disinterested in everything, and too dour to even look around at all this splendor.”
“Talk about ego.” Innit slowly stood. “You ain’t much to look at.”
“I meant the library, twit.”
Innit’s pale skin tinted pink. “That’s well and good, because you look like you’re tryin’ pass for a boy with that haircut.” He pointedly looked at the lowcut of her shirt. “Ain’t no bad haircut hiding those.”
She stiffened as a bolt of electricity shot through her from his stare. She gnashed her teeth and covered herself with her arms. She tried to spit venom at him, but no sound escaped her mouth.
Innit waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know, tryin’ to make your neck look longer. Still points right down to your chest.” He scoffed. “As if y’all ain’t doin’ that on purpose. It’s all for a look.”
“Get out.”
She was shaking, still holding herself tightly.
Innit deflated, curling away from her. He abruptly stood and walked off. He doubled back.
“Sorry. You ain’t look like a boy at all, that’s what I was–.”
“Go!”
He hesitated before stepping away. “Fine. I ain’t ‘bout to break my back over this.”
--
Grams finished her large transcription three nights ago. Kalon had devoured it. It was as straight to the point as could be, but the sudden resurrection and then immediate fall of a First Son brought out the need to add more context, more background. It was four pages of pure political thriller.
Kalon arched her feet to stand on her toes, lifting her spiked heels from the floor. She slid the thin collection beside a book written on Scarborough Washington’s childhood.
“Kalon.” Grams appeared from behind a shelf. “Vern is calling for you.” She stopped her. “Before that, I need to update the Shepard family from Rio Colony….”
“Do you have your pen?”
Grams smirked, taking a small notepad and pen from her cardigan pocket. “I know better than to ask without it. Go on.”
“The most is written about Rexmere, the second son and third child of the former Attorney General for that colony. But, these writings don’t start until his bid in Scarborough Washington’s marriage pool. He was more a footnote for works on his parents, and even on those of his eldest sister and older brother. Should I point out which books for Blackbern or Almavita first?”
“I was hoping to start with the youngest.”
“Casarina?” She frowned. “A fashionista. She married into the Apex family–the book on the Attorney General’s rumored retirement mentions it in the forty-fifth chapter, a grand total of three paragraphs on the two-hundred and ninety-seventh page. But, only the book on the rumor, not the actual retirement book. And the Apex family was huge into textile, so Casarina ended up designing clothes.”
“Speculations are that she is up for a massive promotion.”
“Really? As… what? She out paced her in-laws with her first major design–Scarborough Washington’s inaugural gown; there are several photographs of her in it. I dare say I needn’t point them out.”
“Too much into the gossip camp for me to state yet. I just want to be prepared should the rumors come true.” Grams poised her pen. “Titles and pages, if you would, my dear.”
Kalon rattled off titles, general contents, and specific pages. Once finished, she shouldered her bat and went to find Gramps.
Gramps was near the entrance, rifle pointed at the floor but clearly visible. A few steps forward revealed Khoa and Innit in the doorway. She bristled as she approached, dropping her bat to drag it across the floor to gain their attention.
Innit was somehow paler than before, with pronounced dark circles under his sky blue eyes. Whatever was troubling him had not appeared to affect Khoa, him being more or less the same but with an extra edge to indicate he and Gramps had not been speaking well to each other.
“Ah, there she is.” Gramps ushered for her to join them. “As explained, Kalon will fetch what interests you on this visit. I prefer it if neither if you went any further.”
Kalon put her hand on Gramps’s shoulder. “It’s fine. So long as it’s just the one, and not for long, I can babysit.”
“He did nothing but waste your time and more the last time.”
“Art books.” Innit kept his voice low and eyes down. “Pictures of art. Or sceneries. Or such things.”
“See? Not more than an hour or so.”
Gramps relented. He turned his focus on getting Khoa out, leaving Kalon to motion for Innit to follow her to the same table as his last visit.
“Any artist or art style you have particular interest in?”
“Do I look like a guy that can even know the difference between a picture and a paintin’?” He took a seat. “I just need the quiet.”
“Monet, perhaps, if that is the case.”
She kept Innit in sight as she retrieved a collection of Monet, going with the one that contained bits of information just on the chance that the photographs alone were not enough to keep Innit occupied. She dropped it with a deafening THUNK and sat opposite, kicking her spiked heels up on the neighboring chair.
She took her spiked choker from her neck as the minutes dragged on, inspecting the shine on each point.
“Painted his wife much of these.”
“He truly loved her.” Kalon re-clipped her choker around her neck. “I’m certain he was quite fond of his second wife, but I do wonder how much of it was to keep her and the children in comfort and offer legal protections.”
Innit nodded absently. He slowly turned a page, holding his face up on his fist.
“All the girls wear the same long dresses.”
“The style at the time.”
“It’s… nice, I reckon.” He shrugged. “Different. Bet you could pull it off.”
“Because it’s different?”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with different.” His face tinted pink. “Got anything else?” He shut the book. “Ain’t gettin’ much out of this.”
She returned the book and grabbed one featuring sculptures.
“More art?” Innit scoffed. “Why’re they all naked? Ain’t this old timey porn?”
“What? No! It’s art.”
“So… those old Hustlers are art?”
“Old what?” Kalon shook her head vigorously. “No. Of course not.” She hurried to sit next to Innit. “See, look here. It all comes down to intention. Most is about form, I believe; it being much easier to capture human bodies in metal, stone, and clay if they have nothing to hide beneath.” She flipped to a full page of lovers in a passionate kiss. “Look at what Rodin does here.”
“Who?”
“The artist. Look!” She tapped the photograph. “Look how they hold each other. Look at the indent of the man’s fingers on her thigh. You couldn’t see that if he had them clothed.” She turned to a pair of hands poised upright with the fingertips near touching. “No further bodies required to get the intention of this one across. It’s quite fascinating.”
“Also lovers.” He tilted his head to the side to shift his gaze to her. “You’re one of those romantic types, ain’t you?”
Kalon’s enthusiasm waned with her smile. She pulled at the lacy cuffs of her off-the-shoulder top. She found Innit no longer looking her way, now studying the grain of the table with his leg bouncing.
“My thoughts are… more that it would be nice if someone could love me, more than the idea of love itself. I’m not a starry-eyed girl waiting on a dashing rogue.”
Innit’s leg stopped twitching. “Ain’t it usually a prince?”
“Yes, but I share your distaste for politics.”
“Distaste….” Innit stared into nothing, eyes still on the table. “Can’t say if that’s right or not.” His brow knit. “Why’d you reckon no one can love you?”
“Pardon?”
“How you said it. You said it like no one in their right mind would try, not that you ain’t got suitors or something.” He stiffened. “This ain’t… about your hair… right?”
Kalon’s face burned. She stood, slamming the book shut.
“Why are you so fixated on how I look?”
“I ain’t!” Innit scrambled up. “I’m makin’ conversation!”
“And you turn it right to how I look!” She used both hands to wave the book. “We were talking about art! I showed you some beautiful–.”
“Yeah, and you could’ve picked anything.” He ripped the book from her hands, casting it on the table. “Why this?”
“You said that’s what you wanted when you came in!”
Innit’s pale face filled with color. He took a step away.
“Reckon I did say that….” He cleared his throat. “I just didn’t…. There was more to it than sceneries. I need something more bland. Something I won’t give any mind to.”
Kalon squinted at him, frowning. “What happened?”
Innit bristled.
The echoing thumps of Gramps approached diverted them from further reaction. He informed Innit that his hour was up, and told Kalon that Grams wanted more help with her project.
Kalon shouldered her bat and gathered up the book, keeping her back to Gramps and Innit. Her cheeks felt hot.
Innit cleared his throat. “I’ll think up a better topic for tomorrow.”
---------
I decided to do all of the writing from Kalon's pov so I could get a feel for her. And it was less likely for the 'what-if' parts to stick than if I went with Innit, since I'm still not 100% (or even 90%) sold on him getting a wife and kid(s) down the line. He's got other stuff to get through first. Oh, but, that Monet artbook is one I own. So, it's pictures with histories and stuff, and I had a lot of paragraphs about them talking about Monet's love for his first wife, and how his second wife was the caretaker for his chidren with her and the scandal at the time of this woman and her own children living with him, moving around with him, and him funding all the schooling and things for her kids as well as his own for nearly ten years before they get married, when really the talk should've been how her husband just up and ditched her and the kids, living a 'bacholer life' blatantly. Because, at that time period, he should've been providing for his family to some degree even if he wasn't with them, and he just wasn't. So, you get people all scandalized this married woman is a live in nanny and her boss is paying for her children's schooling, but it's like... was she supposed to not work or send her kids to school? And that's why I had Kalon mention the legal protections, because she did eventually get out of that marriage and Monet did marry her and adopt her children, and set them up with wealthy marriages and great apprenticeships and an took care of their futures.
Lol, it was just a thing that was mindboggling to me, so it was mentione a little. I'm also not completely sure on the timeline of things, so there will be some spoilers here and there (like Khoa's mouth), but like most of the stuff in here, take it with a grain of salt.
A Tier half-transformed as a dracleon back in 2005.
Coronation, 2009
I have made at least 2 attempts at drawing the Alan Parsons Project song "Snake Eyes"... this is one from 2011...
...And this one from 2013. I like aspects of both; maybe the layout of this one but mixed with the realism of the other? I need to study my cobra anatomy if I'm going to try again, hah.
Twila Sketch, unknown
And here's just an Ace with epic scarf. I just really like scarves. This was dated 2014!
Train in the Distance, 2014?
Ava Harley, 2016
