Ah, Diamond City, the Green Jewel of the Commonwealth, or something to that effect. The radio didn’t come in well down in his bunker; the historian had yet to venture out and find the radio tower that would boost the signal.
Not that he had more pressing matters, though he would like to think he did, his constant wanderings for books are what he considered important, even if those books were to only ever end up in his bunker where no other eyes would see.
Adam’s soft blue eyes darted about the city, soaking up minor details as he walked. He wasn’t sure if he would call this place a jewel, but then again there was a good chance the people living here didn’t even know what a jewel was.
There was a quaint little open area, it looked to be used for public speaking, and there upon one of the benches, the historian spotted someone familiar. A grin played upon his lips, it would seem he would have the drop on her again. Truly, if they were to meet again after this he hoped this would not be the case, it was a terrible trend to have.
“And I see we meet again, with me coming up from behind and your nose is in a book. I do hope this one is in better condition.”
Before the peace of their small bubble was interrupted, the black hound’s yellow orbs had already fixed themselves on the man nearing the pair; he didn’t move, only watched suspiciously, as always, though he seemed to recognize the other as a non-threat--had he not, he would have long since been on his feet and ready to protect the woman he chose to follow everywhere (because one did not own a dog like Black Spot--he was a free agent).
Gwyneth, on the other hand, was absorbed by her text, occasionally taking a bite of her apple and chewing thoughtfully as she read. She was oblivious, it seemed, to her surroundings--to the restless brahmin nearby, the playing children that would occasionally run through the field, an occasional Brotherhood aircraft overhead...and Adam, behind her, until his voice startled her enough that what was left of her apple--nearly a core, now--fell from her hand and bounced off Black Spot at her feet, who met it with a low grumble.
Huffing softly, she looked over her shoulder at him, wide brown eyes focused under a brow tense with irritation. “And here I thought I could read in relative safety...but still I find myself being startled from behind,” her brow then lifts, and she sighs softly. “My own dog didn’t think to warn me you were coming, so I suppose if he didn’t find you enough to even grumble about, I shouldn’t either...But I would prefer if maybe in the future, should we meet again, you introduce yourself from the front.”
Closing the book she was reading, Gwyneth offers it up for inspection, a faint look of smug satisfaction with her find falling over her features. The book itself is in rather fine condition--the softbound cover shows some bending and the edges of the pages are yellowed with age, but the spine is sturdy. “To the Lighthouse...Virginia Woolf.” She smiles, obviously pleased with herself. “It’s very good. Not just because it’s in one piece. Maybe I’ll let you borrow it when I’ve finished, if you promise to return it.”
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