(Untitled)

[notenlightened]

Reese is in the Conrad common room. There's a book resting open in her lap, but she hasn't turned a page in the last twenty minutes. She's deep in thought - mostly about this situation she seems to have gotten herself in with Crews, but also, also inconveniently, her thoughts are drifting to what her father might say if he knew about this entire

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[firesofwisdom]

There's a kindred spirit lurking just a few shelves down from Sam, her head cocked to the side to read the titles of the books on the shelves. Brighid runs her fingers along the spines, furrowing her brow as she mentally runs through her collection back home, and -

"Aha!" She carefully worms a very old-looking book free of the shelves, grinning like a madwoman. Okay, so it's not exactly in mint condition, but she can do a bit of restoration work on it and polish it up a bit.

[wegotwork]

It's quiet enough in the bookstore that Sam definitely hears the exclamation before he sees where it came from, and a small amused grin turns up the corners of his mouth.

That's the kind of excitement that he'd get busted on for sure if he ever displayed it in front of Dean.

[firesofwisdom]

She carefully wipes some dust off the cover and tucks the book into the crook of her arm. "Have you seen anything like this collection before?" she says to - well, Sam, since he's the only one nearby. "It's brilliant - they've got nearly all the Tom Swift books, for one thing."

Yes, Brighid is collecting a juvenile science fiction series from the mid-twentieth century. Don't judge, Sam.

[wegotwork]

Sam's seen some pretty old books in his day - most of them in Bobby Singer's collection - but he nods politely, because they're not going to get into how he's read all kinds of ancient texts on exorcism and demons and stuff. No judgment here, we promise.

"Can't say I'm familiar," he admits, idly scratching the back of his head with one hand.

[firesofwisdom]

"Juvenile fiction from the first half of the twentieth century," she explains - she's used to this sort of thing; not everybody is as familiar with obscure literature as she is. "Boy genius invents all sorts of outlandish things, foils the evils of the time, you know the deal. Written and published by the same company that's responsible for the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew and, oh, about a dozen other less popular series."

It's strange how someone who handles centuries-old documents on a daily basis can get excited about books that are barely fifty years old. But, well, that's Brighid for you.

[wegotwork]

Sam's familiar with the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. God knows he and Dean have been referred to as the first by any number of people, but he's pretty sure the Hardy Boys wouldn't be able to handle what they've seen or dealt with. One sight of a real demon and they'd probably go running in the other direction.

"And you're collecting them?" he assumes.

[firesofwisdom]

"Right!" Brighid agrees enthusiastically. "Well, I collect just about everything, really, but I've been looking for these specifically lately. There's a good eighty of them - they actually tried a revival of the series just a few years ago - so it's a pretty hefty task."

She wipes her dusty hand on her pants - Brighid always wears old clothes when she's rummaging through bookstores - and offers it to Sam. "Brighid Sheridan."

[wegotwork]

"Eighty." Sam's eyes widen. "Should I ask how many you have in your possession right now?"

He takes the hand offered to him, grinning crookedly. "I'm Sam. Sam Winchester."

[firesofwisdom]

Brighid scrunches up her face for a moment, mentally tallying her books. "Fifty-three," she says finally. "The earliest books and the ones from the 1980s are proving surprisingly elusive - and two of them only exist as manuscripts in the New York Public Library, so that's right out of the question."

"So, Sam, am I right in assuming that you're a fellow book-lover?"

[wegotwork]

So she's definitely a collector. Sam doesn't know why he's surprised by the number that she gives him - maybe it's because, after the fire, the majority of his books were burned up apart from the ones he'd had on his person or in the Impala with Dean - but he definitely lifts an eyebrow and whistles softly.

"Sort of," he admits. "I guess I haven't had a whole lot of time to read lately until now."

[firesofwisdom]

You don't even want to know how many books she's got in her apartment - or that she's got a house on the East Coast for the sole purpose of storage. (No storage lockers for this girl - horrible environments for anything.)

"Well," she says brightly, "no time to start like the present! Really, it's shocking how few Americans take the time to read these days, not with so much instant gratification available from newer forms of media."

When you were born before the invention of television, you're allowed to look down upon such things with disdain. Especially if you're Brighid.