there’s all too much to do in this wonderfully large city and, gradually, his appreciation grows as there seems to always be something to do every day. but, for now, he decides to be near the books, something he understands completely, something from his time. mikazuki walks into a bookstore, taking in the scent of new books, mostly untouched, ready for purchase and consumption.
he wonders, briefly, why anyone would buy books when there are libraries?
he wanders the shelves, admiring the many different print available for viewing and, if interested, buying. he stops in aisle, looking at the books with titles that... he recognizes. it seems writing from his world, about his world, have found there way here as well, and different genres, different authors, all here for one to view.
how does this world even obtain these books?
how do they know?
he reaches for a book, one containing a book of poetry from masters of different eras, and begins to read, their words painting vivid imagery, or more accurately, returning memories of those places to him. when he hears footsteps, he lifts his head away from the text, observing the stranger with contemplative curiosity.
“hmm, are you... perhaps... interested in these texts?” he asks, not one to be afraid of starting random conversations. he smiles and laughs quietly, “ah, perhaps you’re only passing through -- if that’s the case, please, don’t mind this jiji.”
✿ ― @virmentis ( starter - closed )
