2026.03.01: Hobbies and Hangups

Seven Gates
Serqet came by Grenstone Books and was looking for some information for a project.
IC Date	February 18th, 2026
Players	Serqet, Book (Host)
Location	Greenstone Books
Prp/Tp	None
Spheres	Sorcerer, Demon

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Morning settles gently over Greenstone Books, sunlight filtering through the tall front windows and laying warm rectangles across the wooden floor. Soft jazz hums from hidden speakers - brushed drums and a slow trumpet weaving through the quiet - while the scent of freshly brewed coffee drifts from the back room. A paper bag from the local bakery sits open near the register, releasing the warm sweetness of croissants and cinnamon pastries into the air.

Behind the counter, Thomas stands over an open box of newly arrived used books, lifting each paperback out with measured care. He checks spines for cracks, flips through title pages for forgotten notes, and sorts them into tidy stacks by genre, a pencil resting behind his ear. The bell above the door has not yet rung. For now, it is just music, coffee, paper, and the steady ritual of giving old stories a second life.

Togethg with sun rays seems a fitting way for Serqet to arrive, and so she does. Wrapped in warm light of the morning's make, she steps into Greenstone Books without the intensity of her last visit... Instead, her eyes are set in a thin joy. She's pleased to be here, and that much is clear. The first thing she does upon entering? Turn her attention toward the front counter, where Book stands working at his task. She offers a small little wave with her left hand, before she steps into the center of the room. She's no arielle, but that feeling that settles into the room now that she's in it

It's so warm... Just like being curled up near a fire with a good book and a hot coffee.

"Hey, Book." She finally says, looking down to that box of new arrivals after her salutation. "Today's the day the new stuff arrives, huh? Lucky me. Anything in there that you think might appeal to a poetic feminine mind?"

Thomas looks up at the soft wave, and whatever faint crease concentration had placed between his brows eases at once. The jazz continues its lazy rhythm overhead, trumpet low and unhurried, as he rests a hand on the edge of the open box. "Morning, Miss...," he replies, apparently forgetting the woman's name if she gave it the last time they met.R

He glances down into the box and lifts out a slim, weathered paperback, flipping it once to check the spine before turning it so she can see the cover. "Sylvia Plath's Ariel," he says, turning it so she can see the cover. "Not /light/ reading, but lyrical in a way that linger."

"Serqet." The woman says in initial reply, "Name's Serqet. I don't blame you for forgetting... Given the distraction you were working with last time." As she speaks, she approaches the counter. An unconsious saunter to her step that just can't be helped, which sees her arrive and lean upon the countertop, supported by her elbows. She observes that book for a few moment, before finally she says... "I'll take it if it's a genuine recommendation... Ophelia Wears Black was an experience. When I choose love, I choose power. I think I'm going to keep that book as a favorite for a lon time... It's a rare find, by the way. The fact you had it here. That marks this place as special." She grins alittle, offering a sly wink of one of those mysterious eyes.

"Hence, I came back. And hence, I honor your recommendations."

Thomas does not miss the correction, and this time he inclines his head properly. "Serqet," he repeats, deliberate, committing it. There is the faintest curve of dry humor at the corner of his mouth at her mention of distraction. "Your name has roots. Ancient ones at that. If you happened to know," he suggests and then returns to the discussion of the grand opening. "Yes. It was a crowded evening. Let alone the drama of that... /woman/ here." There's something in the way that he menitoned Arielle's presence - like he wasn't quite sure if she was a 'woman' or something 'else'.

Something sharper flickers in his gaze - recognition, not surprise. "That line stays with people," he says quietly. "When I choose love, I choose power." He rests his fingers lightly against the copy of Ariel before sliding it fully toward her. "Then this is a genuine recommendation. Not the same voice, but the same willingness to bleed onto the page." His eyes meet hers steadily, unaffected by the wink but not dismissive of it either. "I stock what I respect. And I respect books that change the temperature of a room."

"Defender from poisons, and protector of women. Oh yes, I'm aware... My mother had no idea how poignant a name it truly was going to become. I work at a domestic violence shelter, with another half substance abuse clinic. So I do alittle of both... Recovery from poisons, and protection of women." Her elbows stay on the counter, and her body arches appropriately for her posture. She regards him for a moment at his recognition of Ophelia, smirking just a little.

"That was drama, wasn't it? Sweet girl though, that Arielle. I've half a mind to test myself infront of her again. Not that I think I made much a fool of myself." She shrugs at that.

"But you stock what you respect... I can appreciate that. I used to read some pretty intense academia back in the day, so I get having strong opinions on your material."

Thomas listens without interruption, and when she explains the meaning of her name, something in his posture settles into a deeper respect. "Then it fits," he says simply. No flourish. No irony. Just acknowledgment. "There is worse work to give your life to." His tone is steady, sincere. He does not comment on the arch of her posture or the deliberate way she holds space; he meets her eyes instead, measured and calm. There maybe subtle ways that women can tell that guys are trying to secretly check them out; a glance, a way their eyes might linger on their chest rather than their face - but Book doesn't seem to be like those guys.

At the mention of Arielle, a faint crease touches his brow before smoothing away. "It was... an unusual evening," he says carefully. Not defensive. Not dismissive. Just precise. "Greenstone is meant to be steady ground. I prefer my drama confined to the shelves." A subtle lift of his shoulder follows. "As for stocking what I respect, it is the only way I know to run a shop. If I would not reread it, I do not sell it."

"Ah, I wouldn't call it drama drama. Some people, they just have that aura about them... That inimicable thing that makes people lose their minds. That's just... Normal. Rare, but normal. And Arielle had it. Poor girl..." Serqet shakes her head at the recollection... And if she notes the way Book respects her, she doesn't call attention to it. Hell, are these movements of hers even intentional?

The answer's no.

"I say 'poor girl' because imagine bringing that with you, literally everywhere? That sucks. That's alot to handle. At the very least, she seemed happy." Serqet shrugs, moving on at last.

"Good mantra though. If you wouldn't re-read it, you don't sell it. Does that mean you've read everythng you've got in here, then? Or is that a work in progress kinda' thing?"

Thomas considers her words carefully, not dismissing them. "Some people do carry... gravity," he says quietly. "It is not always intentional. And it is not always easy." He does not elaborate further, but there is no disagreement in him either. Just measured acknowledgment. Then, as she moves on, so does he.

At her question, the faintest hint of amusement touches his expression. "Not everything," he admits. "That would require several lifetimes and fewer customers." He rests a hand lightly against the counter. "But I have sampled most of it. Enough to know its voice. Enough to know whether it belongs here." His gaze sweeps briefly across the shelves. "A bookstore is less about having read everything and more about recognizing what deserves to be read. Call it a Sanctuary or... if my assistant is to be believe, "Babylon...for Books."

"Babylon!" Serqet chimes, laughing brightly as she does. "Why, I suppose I could call it a book Babylon. Why not call it that? Certainly an amusing title for it... But, I understand. That's what I was thinking, that it would've marked you as something special if you had read everything. No possible way. But to have sampled t all, still, quite impressive." She finally lifts herself from her leaning position on the counter. Another gradual motion, though not so slow as to indicate intention. It is, again, just an unconscious movement. She might not be Arielle but, to the right/wrong person? She IS a danger.

"So is that what fills your days then? Sampling books and stocking shelves? Tell me some of your hobbies. Why not?" She crosses her arms as she speaks, regarding him coolly.

"Other than reading. Naturally, other than reading."

Thomas lets the word Babylon hang in the air for a moment, amused but not indulgent. "If it ever becomes that chaotic, I have failed in my duties," he replies lightly. There is no defensiveness in him, only quiet steadiness. He watches her rise from the counter without reacting to the slow shift of posture, his attention anchored more in the conversation than the movement.

He rests his hands loosely against the edge of the counter. "The shop does not fill all my days," he says evenly. "I garden. Rooftop, mostly. Herbs, roses when they cooperate. I walk when I need to think. I host the occasional small gathering here after hours." A faint, thoughtful pause. "I prefer quiet hobbies...now at least. Things that grow slowly. They tend to last longer." His gaze returns to hers, calm and unhurried. "And you? When you are not defending and protecting?"

"Ah... That counter is pointed." Serqet says, winking alittle slyly at the final question. "In truth, I spend nearly all of my time... Defending and protecting as you said. But in the moments I get to breathe? I like to do things like this. Go out, meet people, make new friends. I wish I had more time to do that but... I wish I could describe how dark that this city truly is. It's every day we get a new visitor with battered wounds. Every day we get half a family. Hell, every day we get more than one of each! It's... It's terrifying, that this is where we live. So I have to be there. Be there for them. The police rarely are. So that's where I come in." She doesn't elaborate beyond that, but the impression is quite clear.

She gets very active in this work.

"I guess I also like to walk on the beach. My roommate and I, we live on North Beach so... It's kinda' right there, ya know?" She pauses, closing one eye.

"...I should take more volunteers and find more hobbies, huh?"

Thomas does not soften his expression out of pity. He does not harden it either. He simply listens. When she speaks of the shelter, of half families and daily wounds, something in him grows very still. "I do not doubt the darkness," he says quietly with an odd measure of certainty to his voice suggesting that he's seen his fair share of it - curious for a man barely in his late twenties.

He lets a small breath pass before answering the lighter turn. "North Beach is a good place to remember the world is larger than the worst parts of it," he says. "Water does that." His gaze studies her for a moment - not assessing, not judging, simply considering. "Hobbies are not indulgent. They are maintenance. Even defenders need somewhere to set down their armor." He smiles faintly, "For myself, they are something I use to feed my mind and my soul - both can wither without regular tending."

Serqet says nothing to his initial reply. She justs tares forward... Thinking about something quite deeply which never finds its way out from betweem her lips. Instead? She moves on with him. "You're right, and that's true. I guess I've never given myself grace, you know? I used to travel, doing similar work. Back then the travelling was the hobby. Seeing new places, meeting new people like usual... Though then, the new people were always temporary. You know what distance can do to friendships. I'm sure I don't ave to describe that one." She taps her fingertips on her folded arms, fully closing her eyes with a gentle sigh.

"You're right about North Beach, though... My room has a nice ocean view. I can open the window and sleep to the sounds of it, if I really want to." She pasues a moment, looking back at him thoughtfully.

"So yeah. Hobby hunting. That's probably next on my morning agenda. I can at least start looking for one. What are your plans, today?"

Thomas lets the quiet stretch while she thinks, not rushing to fill it. "Distance can thin a friendship," he agrees mildly. "But it also clarifies which ones were meant to last." His tone is not corrective, just reflective. He watches the small movements of her hands against her arms, the way she exhales like someone who has been braced for a long time.

At her question, he glances briefly toward the half-emptied box at his feet. "Today is uncomplicated," he says. "Finish sorting these. Price them. Inventory this month's special orders. Derek comes in at noon." A faint lift of his shoulder. "Later, I will water the rooftop garden. Perhaps lunch with a friend or lose myself in my research." His gaze returns to her, steady. "Nothing heroic. Just maintenance."

"Solid." Serqet says, "I'll probably go pick up a caramocha at Roasters after this, then head in to the shelter. We've got an event today for the kids... A couple people agreed to set up a puppet show. We've had one before, but we didn't have many kids a the time so it was more of an adult oriented show. This time though? Classic for kids and the subtext for adults. Should be fun. Woman named Natalya put it all together... But, I'll be watching over that. Probably bringing in some new people, if things go how they normally do. We just cycled out a handful, so we've got space for more again." She idly unwinds her arms, placing one hand on he rhip and shifting her weight to the side while her opposite hand just dangles loosely.

"I hope your garden does well though. Beautiful thing, growing plants. For now... I think I will pick up that book you recommended. Then I think I'll head off. Half a mind to leave my contact info with you, incase you ever wanna talk or anything. Sound solid?

Thomas listens to the description of the puppet show with a quiet nod, the faintest warmth touching his expression at the idea of layered storytelling for children and adults alike. "That sounds like a good morning," he says evenly. "Laughter does more work than most people give it credit for." At the mention of cycling residents and making space for more, his gaze steadies again, respectful without prying. "I hope the event goes smoothly."

When she mentions leaving contact information, he does not react with surprise or eagerness. He simply reaches for a small card from a neat stack beside the register and slides it toward her. "You are welcome to leave it," he replies calmly. "Community is built that way." A faint, thoughtful pause follows. "And if you ever need books for the shelter - something for the kids, or something quieter for the adults - let me know. I can set aside titles that might help." His tone remains steady, practical, open but not pressing.

Card: https://imgur.com/qYIpmuf

"Oh really? That would be amazing! We used to get book donations from local school drives, but those have stopped in recent years. It would be nice to have that again, even if only alittle. You surely know just how much a book can do for someone's outlook... Positive things, they are." She reaches into her own pocket then, pulling out her phone and noting down the number on the card within. She then pockets the card, followed shortly after by the phone.

"I'll keep in touch. For now Book, have a great day. Kay? I'll see ya around. I'll come by again once I get a chance to finish that book. Deal?"

Thomas inclines his head once at her enthusiasm, not overstating it. "Books travel farther than most people realize," he says quietly. "If I have duplicates or good-condition paperbacks that are not moving, I can set them aside. We will keep it modest. Consistent is better than dramatic."

He watches her tuck the card away and offers a small, steady smile. "Deal," he replies. "Finish the book. Then we can argue about it properly." There is the faintest hint of dry humor in that. "Have a good morning at the shelter, Serqet." He returns to the open box as she turns to go, lifting another worn paperback into the light as the door chime sounds and the jazz resumes its quiet hold over the shop.