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[failingfelicity]

[Miranda's sequestered herself in the far, far, far corner of a neutral library, sitting at a table with a sizable pile of various books open or stacked beside her, and a chart visible on the screen of her laptop. She also has a sheet of paper in front of her, with a slowly growing listShe glances between the pages of one of the opened books and

Comments

[halfcocked]

[PEEKING]

[failingfelicity]

[-!!]

Ah, Devit!

[halfcocked]

[has two books under his arm, surprisingly]

What's this--

--vampires??

[failedfelicity]

Yes, s-so what?!

[halfcocked]

Ugh . . . fuck vampires, read about something else!

[failingfelicity]

Like what? [Trying to see what books he has...]

[halfcocked]

[one is about big cats; the other is a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda]

Something less stupid and creepy and gross! I hate vampires.

[failingfelicity]

[...definitely not what she was expecting.]

What's creepy about them?

[halfcocked]

What's not creepy about holding someone down and drinking their blood? It's disgusting!

[failingfelicity]

I don't know, it doesn't seem that bad to me.

[halfcocked]

You a vampire? You know any vampires? It's gross and disturbing!

[failingfelicity]

I know two! And you should know at least one, shouldn't you?

[halfcocked]

Of course I know him.

[failingfelicity]

Well... That's that, then. [Unintentional awkward, get.] I suppose it really doesn't matter either way.

[halfcocked]

What doesn't matter?

[failingfelicity]

It doesn't matter, I-I just said! Never mind about it.