TIMING: May 31, 2025, Afternoon LOCATION: Wicked's Rest Public Library PARTIES: @gotabigdiego & @enthrallinglyeden SUMMARY: Eden meets one of the library's newest patrons, Diego, and gets a bit more than he bargained for. WARNINGS: None.
Nobody works at a library for the thrill of the unpredictable work day. Eden took this position because he liked the mundanity of the job. He liked knowing what unchanging sequence of events were going to unfold with every shift, especially right now. He was already working overtime to recover from the strange magic surge, and it was taking so much of his energy to keep his true form under wraps. Nothing seemed more appealing than sitting in his cushy chair all day in the peace and quiet of the library, which was probably what made the growing commotion all the more noticeable.
The raised voices were coming from the archive room, and Eden could unmistakably identify one of them as Mrs. Jones. While she didn’t seem to be in a full-blown argument with the other individual just yet, the possibility of the situation was enough cause for a headache. Mrs. Jones was nice in the ways that old ladies were nice. For the most part. There was still something…off about her. Maybe it was the way that her eyes lit up in the dark or the way her smile sent shivers down his spine. He was far from the first person to notice this about her, or so he was told by his co-workers. Eden tried not to think about it too much, but he usually did avoid being alone with her. He couldn’t say the same about this individual.
He didn’t want to get involved. He really didn’t want to get involved. After all, it wasn’t his problem. But Eden knew that if this person riled Mrs. Jones up enough, she’d emerge from the archive room and end up making it his problem anyways. Might as well nip the problem in the bud now. With a sigh, Eden rose from the comfort of his desk and dragged himself to the dingy back room. “Is everything alright in here?” he asked as he poked his head through the door, his gaze landing on a man holding several documents and Mrs. Jones’ finger pointing in his face.
—
Snap judgments rarely reflected reality. Diego knew that. But, mouth growing tacky after minutes spent pointlessly arguing in the Wicked’s Rest Public Library, he allowed himself to make one about the detestable creature known as Mrs. Jones.
Okay, calling her a creature was a little unfair. It was her role to protect the books and documents that Diego needed access to, and it was Diego’s role to remind her that he knew what he was doing and, no, thank you, he did not need help with the microfilm reader. Microfiche and Diego were old pals, actually, served multiple tours together, again, thank you very much.
“Is it because I’m young?” Diego asked, an affected, offended, sniff that he had learned from his parents finding home in his tone. “I know I may not have the experience that you do, ma’am, but I have the utmost respect for all newsprint, no matter its age. A lesson that you could apply to me, maybe? A little respect?” Mind you, some of what he was most interested in was from the 1980s—not ancient, as these things went. But that proved his point! It was hardly anything that he needed help with, much less the overbearing, far-too-interested-in-his-work kind.
Diego spared barely a glance towards the new voice, locked in a standoff with his mortal enemy. “Depends,” he said, glaring at Mrs. Jones as she attempted to tidy what little he had gathered, almost as if she was ignoring him entirely. “Are you going to take her side or mine?”
—
“There will be no sides taken as I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,” Eden said as calmly as he could, though Mrs. Jones’ finger didn’t waver nor did her gaze drop from the pile of documents. “Mrs. Jones, why don’t you let me handle this, hm?” He approached the elderly woman with a strained look, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to try and calm her down.
“I doubt he knows what he’s doing! Those young people never do,” she grumbled, though she finally lowered her accusatory finger. Eden shot a wide-eyed look at the other man as if to silently remind him to shut his mouth, and he flashed that charming smile at Mrs. Jones that he knew all his co-workers liked. “But I know what I’m doing and you trust me, right? I will make sure he operates the reader with care and step in if I have to. Besides, the last thing you need is to let him rile you up before your granddaughter’s big recital tonight.”
The old lady immediately softened at the mention of her granddaughter and Eden mentally patted himself on the back for remembering that detail. Mrs. Jones still moved with apprehension towards the door, turning back to throw a dirty look at the man in question at the halfway point, but he was finally able to usher her out of the room successfully. Eden closed the door as quickly as he could, letting out the breath that he didn’t know he was holding as soon as they were in the clear.
“I don’t know what you did, but you managed to pick a fight with the worst possible person to pick a fight with in this building, and we have angry ghosts,” Eden said as he turned towards the man, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
—
No sides taken? Diego tamped down the annoyance he felt, choosing instead to watch as the other librarian went and, if you asked him, effectively and fully took Diego’s side. Because, obviously, he was in the right. It was good to see the other man had some sense.
Still, given that he had invented the reasoning purely for the sake of (petty) argument, the comment about his age had Diego biting his tongue. Was this woman really as rigid as the spines of the books under her care? The younger librarian was lucky Diego knew when to pick his battles, as otherwise it would only be natural for Diego to defend his own honor and the honor of his generation. Unproductive, sure, but just.
As the woman left, Diego flashed her his interview smile—just a bit too polished to be genuine. Take that, Jones. The smile softened as Diego fully took in his new chaperone. Frustration was more workable than obstinance, at least. “Look, I don’t get it either. She just kept turning up, always right when I was finally making some headway. I can appreciate that some patrons need help, really, and the librarians of the world have my utmost respect, but it was almost like she was trying to stop me outright? What deep, dark secrets could be hiding in,” he plucked an article at random from the table, “‘Deborah’s Casserole Corner’?”
Wait. What?
He flipped the article over, but the text on the other side was a jumbled mess of classifieds. Diego frowned at the newsprint. He had never seen this clipping, was the thing. So, when had it…? “You know,” he said, scanning his notes for a plausible explanation, “I’d prefer ghosts, actually. Easier to accept than losing my sanity. Do you think Jones would sabotage me?” Diego paused. Cleared his throat, fully aware of how that sounded. “I mean… Hi, I’m Diego. Please don’t kick me out of the library?”
—
The other man’s tone softened and Eden was relieved that the tension seemingly left the room with his co-worker. “I’m not surprised. That…” Old hag. “Lady has a way of sneaking up behind you. Just when you think you have a moment to yourself, she’s hovering over your shoulder like she’s got you under surveillance.” He ran a tired hand through his hair. No, he was not just projecting.
“Anyways, I’d say don’t take it personally… but, she did seem to be a little more riled up than usual. Perhaps she thought you had a face of mischief. She hates mischief,” Eden said with a smirk. It was true — Mrs. Jones was always going on about how ‘mischief had no place in the library’ which, fair, especially in Wicked’s Rest. But Eden did a once-over of the stranger in front of him, and he didn’t seem to be up to anything nefarious. At least, for now.
Strolling over to the stack of articles, Eden craned his neck to get a better look at the document in the man’s hands. “What exactly is a casserole? I hear people recalling them fondly when talking about their childhood memories, but I can’t quite wrap my head around it,” he said, leaning back onto one of the cabinets. “Ah, spend enough time here and you might just eat your words. The ghosts feed on sanity, or so I’ve been told.” He always meant it in a joking manner for the sake of the library’s patrons, though the possibility of there being truth to the legends always made the hair on his neck stand.
A little amused at the other’s sudden panic, Eden couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Hello Diego. I’m Eden. Mrs. Jones will not sabotage you and you won’t be kicked out of the library. But I will have to monitor you as you continue conducting your research about… ‘Deborah’s Casserole Corner’ and whatnot, if that’s okay with you.” The sudden image of Mrs. Jones barreling towards him flashed in his head, her yells about leaving this mystery man — Diego — alone already ringing. “Trust me, it is for both of our own goods.”
—
“Very Foucault of her,” Diego mused. “Though I would have thought librarians a bit more libertine than that. If she is always watching you, and you are always watching for her, then who is watching the books?”
Ah, that could be it. Mischief. It was one of the kinder things that had been said about Diego, but usually his actions landed him a label. Had he done anything? No. Perhaps Jones had a supernatural sense for it. “I have been known to revel. But I try to keep that away from prying eyes.” Well, usually. “I don’t want to become a problem for you, that much I can promise. Especially when it is much more fun to have a willing accomplice. Think you can keep up?” There was a mock challenge to it, an unserious kind of heat. Friendly company, even in Diego’s moments of greatest focus, was always welcome.
“That is the first question, isn’t it? For Deborah, it looks like a casserole meant… bacon. An alarming amount of bacon. Though, I can’t say that casseroles have ever featured heavily in my diet, so I can’t say if it is an abnormal amount of bacon.” Diego laughed and handed the article to the man. “Deborah, who I must assume is one of the ghosts in question, clearly wanted one of us to have this. I cannot imagine it was me, so you’re her lucky victim. Lose your mind as you try to figure out why this recipe calls for pickles and cucumbers.”
“Eden.” Diego rolled the name around in his mouth. Something familiar tugged at him, but he dismissed it. He had met many people across his travels, but never an Eden. Knew of a couple in the world, but they flew different paths, would never land in Wicked’s Rest of all places. “And how many awful pickup lines about taking you to paradise have you had to endure, Eden? Hopefully none of the loyal, orderly patrons of this fine library have assaulted your ears?”
Diego turned his attention back to his mismatched collection of articles. “I… might need a bit more than monitoring.”
—
Eden huffed at the other’s attempt at some humour. “Good thing you didn’t call her Foucault to her face. I’m almost certain she has no idea who that is and would’ve thought you were insulting her. Or implying that she doesn’t keep an eye on her precious books? Tsk, maybe you do want to be kicked out after all.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the challenge in Diego’s tone, though it was more out of amusement than anything else. “Keep up? Please, it’s my job around here to set the pace.” For as much as he was planning to let the patron do his own thing, Eden was still the one in charge here, and he wasn’t exactly sure what Diego was up to with his plethora of articles.
Perhaps he was better off moments ago when he didn’t know what a casserole was. The description that Diego gave seemed far from appealing, and Eden’s suspicions were only confirmed when he skimmed over the ingredients list on the recipe. “I understand that people enjoy bacon, but anything in excess becomes unappetizing. And this… excess of cucumbers in different preparations. Combined with… cream cheese?” Eden couldn’t hold back his look of disgust, his nose wrinkling just at the thought of it. “Perhaps Deborah left this for Mrs. Jones. This seems more her speed,” he concluded, placing the recipe back on the table ever so gently, as if any mishandling of the paper would spite Deborah’s spirit.
There hadn’t really been much thought process behind selecting his English name besides the fact that he liked it. Perhaps he should’ve picked something more generic if his goal was to fly under the radar, but then again, Eden likely would’ve hated waking up as a Bob or John every day. “Far more than I can count off the top of my head, though I can’t say it’s always unwelcome. Right time and place,” he said, the corner of his lip beginning to quirk upwards but falling into a grimace. “Not so much from the orderly patrons of this fine establishment, though. They assault my ears in different ways.” He never knew people could get so worked up over books until he started working here.
Following Diego’s gaze as he scanned over the strewn articles on the table, Eden crossed his arms. “Well, I’m happy to be of service beyond this little babysitting act, but it’ll require you telling me some more details about your research. I can’t imagine you came here looking for information on…” he trailed off, plucking another random article from the pile “… horse racing in the 1970s?”
—
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Diego said. He had been kicked out of libraries before, usually for trying to stay past closing. On occasion, he had gotten lucky, and a librarian had not noticed him hiding in the stacks, or they had forgotten to check the bathrooms before closing up for the night. Being locked down, with no distractions, was something of a luxury for Diego. At home—or wherever he called home, on the road—there was always more to do. The single-mindedness of a library grounded him.
Grounding, too, was the hum of Eden’s answers as a comfortable companionability settled over the two. Diego let out a hmm when appropriate, nose wrinkling in disgust at the culinary crimes, and nodded as Eden talked about the patrons. He hoped the other man would not consider it rude, that Diego’s own stream of chatter had died down despite Diego having been the one asking questions in the first place. He did this, sometimes, when working, got to thinking about a particular puzzle and lost his sense of manners. Had he not already asked for help, he might have waved Eden off, but there was something to be said for accountability, for focus.
“Horse racing? Not really my thing.” Understatement, really. Diego grimaced at the request for more information. It made sense, of course, but the specifics of his research were difficult to explain. Not without having to answer a litany of questions about, well, magic… and breaking several ancient vows to secrecy. So, instead, Diego decided to accept the loss and resigned himself to getting less accomplished today than he would have liked. “You know, if there’s something about horse racing, maybe, uh, maybe she had a point. So, let’s start by… putting everything back.” He winced. “And then, I can get you to help me find a… book. On, um, local history. Get a library card. Check out the book. Then, you know, come back when I have a better idea of where to… start.” He winced again and, with that flimsy reasoning locked in place, Diego set to work undoing his progress, hoping that Eden would not regret his intervention before the end of it.