when you're strange
There are two people near the library today. One is The Baron, who is currently seated on the library steps, chomping down on a green apple. The other is Daniel Faraday, who is actually inside, looking for something new and exciting to read. His search isn't really going so well.
This, he supposes, is why he isn't really a fan of fiction. There are ( Read more... )
This, he supposes, is why he isn't really a fan of fiction. There are ( Read more... )
Comments 40
You get one anyway.
Sark is meandering about Chicago, like he do, being generally aloof and, you know, a pretty easy target for random crazy people. He actually stopped just in front of the library when he saw Faraday walk by and sort of subtly watched him go. He's... Fairly certain that Faraday died. He kind of clearly remembers April destroying her room after his death.
...Maybe he really is just going crazy. Or it's Faraday's double... Or something.
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As Sark watches Dan, Baron watches Sark, fingers twitching idly in the absence of the apple. He's bored now. This does not bode well for the prissy looking blond kid.
"Hey, mister!"
He's talking to you, Sark.
"Do me a favor?"
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Sark turns slowly. See these eyes, Baron? These are the eyes of someone who does not approve of your... Existence. Or the fact that you're talking to him. Sarks are not social creatures.
"What?" Maybe if he looks menacing enough, the homeless person will go away.
...One day, Sark will learn that he does not look menacing at all.
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(This one is not so good with reading facial expressions. Or, he is, and he chooses to ignore the messages they convey.)
"Bring me that apple core," he says, pointing at it.
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Yes, Baron, a tiny blonde has just appeared out of nowhere and is going to start talking to you as if she already knows you. The apple fell near her feet and she herself is holding a bag of chips. She somehow thinks this means he'll sympathize with her plight.
The reason for her being at the bookstore is most likely silly and utterly baffling. But then, Phoebe Donovan is silly and utterly baffling.
"Do you? DO YOU? I'll tell you. I really hate when you buy a frigging bag of Doritos and you think it's full because it's all fluffy and stuff. Then you open it and you realize that you have BEEN LIED TO."
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"Marketing," he says simply, as though that explains everything. "If you're too disappointed to finish the bag, I will gladly take it off of your hands."
Because suggestion will obviously get him the bag. Or he might just take it and run. He hasn't decided yet.
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She frowns a little, her grip on the food tightening. "Get your own bag!"
"And I don't care about marketing! It's stupid. Give me what I paid for!"
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He studies her for a second, contemplating whether or not a bag of Doritos would be worth the work.
Nah.
"Mm," he hums, shrugging nonchalantly. "I am afraid I can't help you with that."
His interest: you lost it, Pheobe.
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