I only wanted something else to do but hang around...
If you're well-off enough to be a power shopper, the Magnificent Mile--about a mile's worth of Michigan Avenue between the Chicago River and Oak Street--is just that: magnificent. High-end retailers from all over the world, with boutiques at street level. High-rise indoor malls. Hundreds of ways to be parted from rather a lot of your money.
Or, in the case of Ananya Chinnamalai--rather a lot of someone else's money. Oh, sure, it's her money now, now that she's cajoled it out of various benefactors in various cities where she previously made her residence, or, in one case, now that she's passed a bad check, but she's barely hung onto it long enough to rightfully call it her own. She's already picked up a couple of pairs of shoes down at Burberry, she's just snapped up one of the latest in-demand handbags at Louis Vuitton, and she's headed down the street to Tiffany & Co., determined to let something talk its way into a little blue box so it can go home with her. All in all, it's an enjoyable day.
Some people find enjoyment in their days through retail therapy. Some people, however, are entirely unmoved by material things, and prefer to find fulfillment through other means. In Bruce Wayne's case, fulfillment comes through knowledge.
...Okay, okay, yeah, so fulfillment also frequently comes through kicking some bad guy's ass, but he's hardly in a position to do that. The world around him--even though he's smack in the middle of the Harold Washington Library Center--still sounds entirely too loud for his comfort. He's only reading as well as he is due to the pair of remarkably unflattering black-rimmed bifocals resting on his nose. They're a bit too big for him, so he has to push them up on his nose every so often.
He's more or less taken over a table meant for four, and piled various books around himself. Books on history. Books on geography. Books on politics. Books on Chicago itself. Bruce understands he's not in the world he came from. He wants all the information he can lay hands on on this one, then. The best way to adapt is to recognize and adjust to any differences you find. So he's looking for those differences.
There's someone else in Chicago who's considered doing much the same herself. She'd definitely at least find the idea of hunkering down in the middle of a huge library, reading and absorbing information, very attractive. In fact, that very person is currently surrounded by books herself. She's not at the library, however; she's at work. And she's not really working, not shelving books as she's supposed to be doing. She is, instead, perched on the stool she uses to reach the high shelves, a stack of books balanced across her knees, and she looks for all the world like she might burst into tears at any moment.
Rachel Conway is not having an enjoyable day. Not at all, and that's saying something for someone who's usually a perpetual little ray of sunshine. The frustrating thing about it is she can't put her finger on why. There's no one thing that's set her off, nothing she can point at and say, "That's what's got me down". It's sort of... everything, all at the same time, while also seeming to be nothing, nothing at all.
(If she understood a little better than she does how these things work, she might realize this all started after she crossed paths with Magdalena at the carnival a few days ago. If she really understood what Adrian meant when he explained that Magdalena makes people sick, and what Magdalena meant when she protested that she doesn't do anything physical to them anymore, well. She'd know enough to understand it's not nothing, and not everything. But she doesn't.)
George is down on the main floor working the checkout; Joey and the rest of the other staff members working today are all down in the basement, prepping for the concert later tonight. Rachel's forgotten what it is, even. It's quiet up here on the third floor, and she's taking the opportunity, while she's alone, to just sit for a minute.
Except it's been like ten minutes, and all she's done is sit there and stare blankly at the shelves across from her perch, unseeing, trying to figure out when the hell everything started to suck so much.
...The fact that she's parked herself in the fairytales section is really, really not helping matters.
Or, in the case of Ananya Chinnamalai--rather a lot of someone else's money. Oh, sure, it's her money now, now that she's cajoled it out of various benefactors in various cities where she previously made her residence, or, in one case, now that she's passed a bad check, but she's barely hung onto it long enough to rightfully call it her own. She's already picked up a couple of pairs of shoes down at Burberry, she's just snapped up one of the latest in-demand handbags at Louis Vuitton, and she's headed down the street to Tiffany & Co., determined to let something talk its way into a little blue box so it can go home with her. All in all, it's an enjoyable day.
Some people find enjoyment in their days through retail therapy. Some people, however, are entirely unmoved by material things, and prefer to find fulfillment through other means. In Bruce Wayne's case, fulfillment comes through knowledge.
...Okay, okay, yeah, so fulfillment also frequently comes through kicking some bad guy's ass, but he's hardly in a position to do that. The world around him--even though he's smack in the middle of the Harold Washington Library Center--still sounds entirely too loud for his comfort. He's only reading as well as he is due to the pair of remarkably unflattering black-rimmed bifocals resting on his nose. They're a bit too big for him, so he has to push them up on his nose every so often.
He's more or less taken over a table meant for four, and piled various books around himself. Books on history. Books on geography. Books on politics. Books on Chicago itself. Bruce understands he's not in the world he came from. He wants all the information he can lay hands on on this one, then. The best way to adapt is to recognize and adjust to any differences you find. So he's looking for those differences.
There's someone else in Chicago who's considered doing much the same herself. She'd definitely at least find the idea of hunkering down in the middle of a huge library, reading and absorbing information, very attractive. In fact, that very person is currently surrounded by books herself. She's not at the library, however; she's at work. And she's not really working, not shelving books as she's supposed to be doing. She is, instead, perched on the stool she uses to reach the high shelves, a stack of books balanced across her knees, and she looks for all the world like she might burst into tears at any moment.
Rachel Conway is not having an enjoyable day. Not at all, and that's saying something for someone who's usually a perpetual little ray of sunshine. The frustrating thing about it is she can't put her finger on why. There's no one thing that's set her off, nothing she can point at and say, "That's what's got me down". It's sort of... everything, all at the same time, while also seeming to be nothing, nothing at all.
(If she understood a little better than she does how these things work, she might realize this all started after she crossed paths with Magdalena at the carnival a few days ago. If she really understood what Adrian meant when he explained that Magdalena makes people sick, and what Magdalena meant when she protested that she doesn't do anything physical to them anymore, well. She'd know enough to understand it's not nothing, and not everything. But she doesn't.)
George is down on the main floor working the checkout; Joey and the rest of the other staff members working today are all down in the basement, prepping for the concert later tonight. Rachel's forgotten what it is, even. It's quiet up here on the third floor, and she's taking the opportunity, while she's alone, to just sit for a minute.
Except it's been like ten minutes, and all she's done is sit there and stare blankly at the shelves across from her perch, unseeing, trying to figure out when the hell everything started to suck so much.
...The fact that she's parked herself in the fairytales section is really, really not helping matters.