(no subject)
---
Barnes and Noble
To say that this bookstore is large would be an understatement; it's massive. Spanning two floors altogether, with the upper floor accessed via the two staircases space out evenly in the first level. No doubt there's an elevator elsewhere, for the handicapped. On both floors, the decor seems to be of wood floors and walls painted the same sort of relaxing dark green one might find in small cafes, although it works well in a large establishment like this, complimented by many large windows for natural lighting. There are various register desks throughout the store, marked by signs above the seemingly endless maple shelves of all manner of books. Still, the atmosphere here is pleasantly open and comfortable, with the noise level at a minimum and even a few couches here and there for those who wish to rest.
Now that the thanksgiving rush is over Philip is once again out on one of his hunts, sat on one of the more comfortable couches he eyes the shelves around him with barely contained avarice, occasionally forcing himself to glance at a tightly held piece of paper as if it was a talisman of sorts.
The malls bustle with the aftermath of Black Friday, that holy day of retail shopping. Even today, bargain hunters roam the meccas of capitalism, prowling through bins and shelves in search of the elusive prize. Less obsessive spirits amble through Barnes and Noble, sharing in the season if not the drive to purchase; clad in a heavy leather overcoat, a hand in one capacious pocket, Chris Rossi roams through nonfiction shelves, skimming esoteric texts of religious philosophy and anthropology: heavy reading, far removed from the life of a cop.
Pulling a calculator from his pocket Philip spends a few moments glancing at the paper, after spending a few moments deep in thought he gets up and with a sigh heads to find the books on his list. With a rarely seen degree of focus he marches off to find the rest of his courses recommended reading list, hopefully not very well hidden amongst the anthropology section of such a large book store.
It is, all things considered, a relatively insignificant section: a matter of two shelves propped side-by-side, with half a wall playing proxy in between. Against one shelf leans the off-duty detective, black head bowed over perusal of St. Augustine; the arrival of a new shopper stirs him to shift, making way -- and a glance up pauses that same move, stilled over brow-wrinkled recognition.
With a half wispered mantra of "Only buy the course books" Philip begins absent-mindedly checking the shelves, then as his brain snaps back to attention he pauses to look at the nearby shopper "Oh sorry I didnt recognise you... Rossi?" his voice a little uncertian at being so informal
"Yeah," acknowledges the other man, snapping his book shut to veil its cover against his coat. Brooklyn brashness translates after that first abrupt concession, easing into a less brusque: "I remember you. From the ... the Park, right? Got knocked over by that dog. Sorry," Rossi adds, with more courtesy than distress. "Don't remember your name."
Philip says, "Then I suppose we're equal, as I do distinctly remember getting your name wrong... " Smiling to show he isn't offended "The names Philip, I know its probably rude of me to assume things, but I really didn't have you down as the Anthropology and Religious Philosophy type"
Caught, Rossi grimaces crookedly, shadow tucking into the saturnine features. "Yeah, I know. Cops don't know how to read." The book-holding hand gestures, slightly mocking; on the cusp of the wave, he pushes the book back into line with its fellows on the shelf, returning it to anonymity. "It's a habit I picked up somewhere. Don't tell anyone. They'll kick me out of the NYPD if they know I'm literate."
"Makes it harder to get the budget cuts past if you can read them eh? " Philip says jokingly, his eyes scanning the shelves to see if anything matches his list "I suppose its been a bit of a tough job lately... I mean if the news is to be believed and all..."
The leather-clad shoulders shrug, hissing against the back shelf. "Grain of salt," Rossi says, laconically dismissive. His own gaze skims as well, making a brief, brisk inventory of spines and titles before moving on to the next tall stack. "There're several thousand cops in the city. The same four or five guys don't take care of everything. --Light reading? Or school?"
Philip says, "Even so the odds are really not that great... This time its school, but I suspect if I wasn't already dipping into my food money I'd be buying a couple of things for myself" With a victorious grin he pulls a book off the shelf "One of the more unpleasant lecturers decided to set some extra required reading, Quite spiteful really, Especially considering I'm probably the only one who doesn't consider this a holiday"
Green eyes glance askance. "Brit," Rossi recalls, cosmopolitan enough not to make of it an accusation. "Thanksgiving? Typical American holiday. Eat too much, drink too much, fight with your family, sleep too much. Spend the entire year looking forward to it, then spend the entire holiday wishing you weren't there." Another book catches his interest, and he tugs it down with a forefinger's hook to flip through its pages. "You guys got, what. Guy Fawkes? Or is it just Christmas?"
Philip laughs at the comparison "Oh, Well we do have Guy Fawkes day, but all we do is set off some fireworks, Ironically in celebration of someone trying to blow up our government, It sometimes scares me how much can be turned into profitable marketing..." his voice tails off as he notices the extortionate price of the book he'd just pulled from the shelf..
"Like our Fourth of July," notes Det. Rossi, thumbing to the index to scan down its contents. The smallest wrinkle digs its way through his brow, tracing curiosity across his frown. "Except we celebrate actual success." Humor skips across to the student.
Looking quite annoyed at the impact the new additions to his reading list will have on his finances Philip begins looking for the second book "ah, I'd always wondered what that was about.." he ponders, more than a little amused at the similarity "There's a rather amusing link between things we really shouldn't celebrate and national celebrations..... Perhaps someday people will commercialise one of our contemporary tragedies" he muses
Baritone chuffs in a quiet almost-chuckle, a ripple of amusement across the urban accent. "No offense to you Brits," Rossi drawls, trolling back through his book to track down an index entry, "but independence from England worked out just fine for us. Long-term, anyway."
Nodding in agreement Philip glances over "Actually I approve of the idea, the whole empire thing was really a bit excessive.. Although thankfully it makes travel a whole lot easier..... Although I wish people could get the same results without all the meaningless displays of force...."
"You got some definition of 'meaningless' I'm not familiar with," says the cop with dry cynicism, snapping the book shut to shove it back on the shelf. The free hand plows deep into its pocket again, sharing space with the peep of black leather gloves; broad shoulders hitch, nudging the collar of the overcoat up against the dig of chin. "Sometimes force is the best tool in the chest."
Philip says, "I suppose it depends on the context, More likely than not my idealism has yet to be broken down by the way /the world/ works... But then, I suppose police work would be somewhat difficult if all you could use was sound logic and philosophy....."
Says Rossi, wry, "It wouldn't /work/ at all. Enjoy that ivory tower of yours while you can." A last, brief glance pitches around the horseshoe of shelves, dismisses it, and moves on. The detective presses past Philip towards the wider aisles beyond, baritone pitched in a lazy salute over his shoulder. "Nice to run into you again, kid. Have a happy holiday."
Philip says, "Oh dont worry, I intend to climb as high and as fast as I can... Hope you have a good holiday too" and with a grin he adds "They do still do holidays in the police dont they...?"
The cop pauses mid-stride, half-turning to pitch Philip a black-rimmed glance. "Every day's a holiday in the New York," baritone observes, skeined with deprecation. "Pimps' day, hookers' day, junkies' day, Brotherhood day--" And then he is gone, striding down the path of his own sardonic litany.
Philip turns back to the shelves, glad that for now his only troubles are finding an obscure book...
[Log ends]
Rossi goes looking for books, and runs into Philip for a discussion about holidays.
Barnes and Noble
To say that this bookstore is large would be an understatement; it's massive. Spanning two floors altogether, with the upper floor accessed via the two staircases space out evenly in the first level. No doubt there's an elevator elsewhere, for the handicapped. On both floors, the decor seems to be of wood floors and walls painted the same sort of relaxing dark green one might find in small cafes, although it works well in a large establishment like this, complimented by many large windows for natural lighting. There are various register desks throughout the store, marked by signs above the seemingly endless maple shelves of all manner of books. Still, the atmosphere here is pleasantly open and comfortable, with the noise level at a minimum and even a few couches here and there for those who wish to rest.
Now that the thanksgiving rush is over Philip is once again out on one of his hunts, sat on one of the more comfortable couches he eyes the shelves around him with barely contained avarice, occasionally forcing himself to glance at a tightly held piece of paper as if it was a talisman of sorts.
The malls bustle with the aftermath of Black Friday, that holy day of retail shopping. Even today, bargain hunters roam the meccas of capitalism, prowling through bins and shelves in search of the elusive prize. Less obsessive spirits amble through Barnes and Noble, sharing in the season if not the drive to purchase; clad in a heavy leather overcoat, a hand in one capacious pocket, Chris Rossi roams through nonfiction shelves, skimming esoteric texts of religious philosophy and anthropology: heavy reading, far removed from the life of a cop.
Pulling a calculator from his pocket Philip spends a few moments glancing at the paper, after spending a few moments deep in thought he gets up and with a sigh heads to find the books on his list. With a rarely seen degree of focus he marches off to find the rest of his courses recommended reading list, hopefully not very well hidden amongst the anthropology section of such a large book store.
It is, all things considered, a relatively insignificant section: a matter of two shelves propped side-by-side, with half a wall playing proxy in between. Against one shelf leans the off-duty detective, black head bowed over perusal of St. Augustine; the arrival of a new shopper stirs him to shift, making way -- and a glance up pauses that same move, stilled over brow-wrinkled recognition.
With a half wispered mantra of "Only buy the course books" Philip begins absent-mindedly checking the shelves, then as his brain snaps back to attention he pauses to look at the nearby shopper "Oh sorry I didnt recognise you... Rossi?" his voice a little uncertian at being so informal
"Yeah," acknowledges the other man, snapping his book shut to veil its cover against his coat. Brooklyn brashness translates after that first abrupt concession, easing into a less brusque: "I remember you. From the ... the Park, right? Got knocked over by that dog. Sorry," Rossi adds, with more courtesy than distress. "Don't remember your name."
Philip says, "Then I suppose we're equal, as I do distinctly remember getting your name wrong... " Smiling to show he isn't offended "The names Philip, I know its probably rude of me to assume things, but I really didn't have you down as the Anthropology and Religious Philosophy type"
Caught, Rossi grimaces crookedly, shadow tucking into the saturnine features. "Yeah, I know. Cops don't know how to read." The book-holding hand gestures, slightly mocking; on the cusp of the wave, he pushes the book back into line with its fellows on the shelf, returning it to anonymity. "It's a habit I picked up somewhere. Don't tell anyone. They'll kick me out of the NYPD if they know I'm literate."
"Makes it harder to get the budget cuts past if you can read them eh? " Philip says jokingly, his eyes scanning the shelves to see if anything matches his list "I suppose its been a bit of a tough job lately... I mean if the news is to be believed and all..."
The leather-clad shoulders shrug, hissing against the back shelf. "Grain of salt," Rossi says, laconically dismissive. His own gaze skims as well, making a brief, brisk inventory of spines and titles before moving on to the next tall stack. "There're several thousand cops in the city. The same four or five guys don't take care of everything. --Light reading? Or school?"
Philip says, "Even so the odds are really not that great... This time its school, but I suspect if I wasn't already dipping into my food money I'd be buying a couple of things for myself" With a victorious grin he pulls a book off the shelf "One of the more unpleasant lecturers decided to set some extra required reading, Quite spiteful really, Especially considering I'm probably the only one who doesn't consider this a holiday"
Green eyes glance askance. "Brit," Rossi recalls, cosmopolitan enough not to make of it an accusation. "Thanksgiving? Typical American holiday. Eat too much, drink too much, fight with your family, sleep too much. Spend the entire year looking forward to it, then spend the entire holiday wishing you weren't there." Another book catches his interest, and he tugs it down with a forefinger's hook to flip through its pages. "You guys got, what. Guy Fawkes? Or is it just Christmas?"
Philip laughs at the comparison "Oh, Well we do have Guy Fawkes day, but all we do is set off some fireworks, Ironically in celebration of someone trying to blow up our government, It sometimes scares me how much can be turned into profitable marketing..." his voice tails off as he notices the extortionate price of the book he'd just pulled from the shelf..
"Like our Fourth of July," notes Det. Rossi, thumbing to the index to scan down its contents. The smallest wrinkle digs its way through his brow, tracing curiosity across his frown. "Except we celebrate actual success." Humor skips across to the student.
Looking quite annoyed at the impact the new additions to his reading list will have on his finances Philip begins looking for the second book "ah, I'd always wondered what that was about.." he ponders, more than a little amused at the similarity "There's a rather amusing link between things we really shouldn't celebrate and national celebrations..... Perhaps someday people will commercialise one of our contemporary tragedies" he muses
Baritone chuffs in a quiet almost-chuckle, a ripple of amusement across the urban accent. "No offense to you Brits," Rossi drawls, trolling back through his book to track down an index entry, "but independence from England worked out just fine for us. Long-term, anyway."
Nodding in agreement Philip glances over "Actually I approve of the idea, the whole empire thing was really a bit excessive.. Although thankfully it makes travel a whole lot easier..... Although I wish people could get the same results without all the meaningless displays of force...."
"You got some definition of 'meaningless' I'm not familiar with," says the cop with dry cynicism, snapping the book shut to shove it back on the shelf. The free hand plows deep into its pocket again, sharing space with the peep of black leather gloves; broad shoulders hitch, nudging the collar of the overcoat up against the dig of chin. "Sometimes force is the best tool in the chest."
Philip says, "I suppose it depends on the context, More likely than not my idealism has yet to be broken down by the way /the world/ works... But then, I suppose police work would be somewhat difficult if all you could use was sound logic and philosophy....."
Says Rossi, wry, "It wouldn't /work/ at all. Enjoy that ivory tower of yours while you can." A last, brief glance pitches around the horseshoe of shelves, dismisses it, and moves on. The detective presses past Philip towards the wider aisles beyond, baritone pitched in a lazy salute over his shoulder. "Nice to run into you again, kid. Have a happy holiday."
Philip says, "Oh dont worry, I intend to climb as high and as fast as I can... Hope you have a good holiday too" and with a grin he adds "They do still do holidays in the police dont they...?"
The cop pauses mid-stride, half-turning to pitch Philip a black-rimmed glance. "Every day's a holiday in the New York," baritone observes, skeined with deprecation. "Pimps' day, hookers' day, junkies' day, Brotherhood day--" And then he is gone, striding down the path of his own sardonic litany.
Philip turns back to the shelves, glad that for now his only troubles are finding an obscure book...
[Log ends]
Rossi goes looking for books, and runs into Philip for a discussion about holidays.