Post by imogen on Dec 2, 2011 11:01:04 GMT -6
[/size][/blockquote],THE AIR IN valkyrie, california was, for lack of a better term, sticky. thick, heavy and rather uncomfortable. imogen van der meer was having quite the time adjusting herself to this strange, new environment. the humidity felt troublesome against her pale flesh. she felt unnecessarily burly. it kind of made her want to wash her hands. rubbing her cool, chapped palms together, the van der meer in question bent low over the old wooden table. her fingertips itched to feel the starched paper. it took an unusual amount of self-control not to feast her eyes upon the old novel laying before her. it was old, dating back to the years her family's legacy was a mere toddler. the pages had long yellowed with time, and the words were an off-colour, faded grey. the writer had pressed the book closed much too quickly after writing; the ink had never been given proper time to dry. the unfamiliar characters danced here and there, forming disconnected sentences and not making quite enough sense. this textbook had seen everything, and more. it smelled smokey, suffering the threat of fire years previous. the edges of each page were browned, crisped with ash. overall, it was unflattering. she knew as well as anyone this particular book looked just like any old thing at the back of an antique shop. while not particularly enticing, the history was breathing on her. it was aged, a charmless sort of charm keeping it from prying eyes and grabby hands. she had no doubt it held feckless information, words only the enthused and the bored bothered to read. but, again, that was its appeal. her fingers itched for this forgotten piece of…something. she had no idea. the mystery behind this broken, discredited book left her baffled.
imogen van der meer, i hope you know, did not waste time. the pretty german was quick to decide what was worth her time; most things were not. so, it was quite unusual to find her so enthralled by a book with no obvious face value. while her passion lay within the forgotten and dusty, most of her days were spent lurking in the shadows of the forbidden, always with a private price tag. it paid the bills, i suppose you could say. it was an odd day to have hours to herself, time passed examining something that could have no use to her in the future. she didn't really care. imogen had merely gone wandering around this new town, shuddering in this uncomfortable heat, in search of something new. the sign on this antique shop was faded, nearly illegible; the bell had long rusted, giving no attention to her entrance. but, most of all, it was cool. the air conditioner rumbled irritably in the background, keeping the goosebumps on her arms present. this was her favourite environment. in the quiet of this little shop, she almost forgot where she was. it felt like home, in a sense. squint your eyes and ignore the smell of old shoes, and she could very easily be at home in berlin, wading her way through the back room of her favourite place. she liked to believe that, at least. a light smile crossed her face as she sunk to the floor, resting on her knees. imogen had found this one textbook, sweetly requested a quiet spot to "examine" it, and now had the entire back room to herself. the air in here was even cooler, almost like a fresh breeze from outside (in a place that allowed fresh breezes). the shallow, more logical side of her mind was convincing herself that yes, this was worth her time. it was bleeding hot outside, and she had yet to explore this location. on the other hand, had she not found something so oddly captivating, she would have immediately written this off as a waste of her time. thought process of a girl, i suppose.
she refused to let herself touch the pages. her eyes were all this required, she consistently had to remind herself. with an unknown date of origin, with even less information on the book itself, it was impossible to say the damages her oily skin could have on it. this could be worth thousands of dollars. most likely, it was priced at no more than several hundred - almost not worth her time - but imogen liked to take special care of her personal purchases. she sold the mass majority of her finds, legally obtained or not. only a few made it through her purging process, finding a safe place in her storage locker. she needed to research this much farther. it remained a mystery, as to why she found it magnetic. it was aged by neglect and fire, hidden behind black curtains. she felt that way sometimes, too. and more often than once, she wished someone would find her at the back of an antique shop and handle her with tenderness. silly thought, she mused, comparing her silly self to this silly book. she had, however, long stopped attempting to dissect thought processes. the mind will do as it wishes. her light eyes continued to search the aged parchment, searching for…well, she didn't know what exactly. something. the first step would be to find out this language, the characters even she was having difficulty recognizing. icelandic, perhaps. a word here and there she would understand, but nothing to confirm. too bad, she was going to have this as a longer process. the mind what it wants, i suppose, no matter how disrespectful. did it not know that she had, for lack of a better word, better things to do? oh well. breathing a light sigh, imogen withdrew her blackberry, carefully snapped photographs of the less faded passages and exited the room.
the rush of warmer air was definitely unexpected. blinking once or twice in the odd brightness of the washed out lighting, she weaved her way through the unorganized-organized shop. true to its "antique" nature, it resembled her own storing locker: a chaotic disarray, but she knew where everything was hidden. who else needed to? a light smile creasing her features as she located the shopkeeper, a man barely older than herself. "we definitely need to learn more," he had expressed a hesitant interest in this book as well. quite possibly because imogen was so taken with it. "i wouldn't handle it anymore than we already have. i can drop by in the next day or two, with proper equipment. you do, however, have a sale, my friend." the puzzled shopkeeper was still looking over his glasses at her as she departed.
carefully sliding her sunglasses over her eyes, gripping the strap of her black satchel tightly, imogen quickly shuffled down the streets of valkyrie. walking was, she'd learned, the greatest way of education in a new place. her "family" had purchased vehicles and bicycles almost the very day they arrived in valkyrie. she was perfectly content with walking and taking the transit. result? her easy knowledge of valkyrie's streets. she rarely lost her way. it took less than ten minutes for her to join the crowds of downtown urbanites. it must be nearing late afternoon, judging by the hustle of the desperate workers. eager to get to their respected homes, forgetting a day's work for another evening. slowing her gait as bankers and stock brokers shuffled around her, imogen stayed close to the curb. surround yourself with those in a rush, and you will find yourself in an unnecessary rush. she preferred to take life more gradually. it kept her mental state much stabler. and when her mind was relaxed, she much less often resorted to her more self-destructive tendencies. that same blank smile crossed her face, not quite reaching her eyes, as she looked at the glowing sign of the local starbucks. the coffee was disgusting, but she often found the bland cafe to be an excellent escape when suspended. go home? contact her friends? she couldn't decide. thus, the frequently-multipled coffeehouse. it was definitely closing in on rush hour, as the line quickly grew behind her. it was a nice day, as she avoided the rushes by mere seconds. pushing her sunglasses up into her hair, imogen studied the menu and glass casings needlessly. she liked to pretend she had no idea what she wanted, perhaps entertain a latte or scone. but it was the same, almost everyday. "coffee, black. danke." smiling politely at the young barista, barely sixteen or seventeen, she patiently awaited her bitter drink. the coffee here really was unsatisfactory. she had grown used to that, though. her eating habits echoed that mentality quite closely. gripping the white cup, she quickly slipped away from the counter, eyes searching for a table of sorts. rush hour, definitely
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[/blockquote]TAGGED, OPEN. :[
DATE, april, 2012. starbucks.
LENGTH, 1468 words.
ATTIRE, clicketh. + black flats.
NOTES, first post. stupid ending. you should thread with me. :]
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to paramore - "we are broken"