come walk with me a moment

Meyers Griggs 39 - he/him Head Librarian - Redford Public Library

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers Griggs

✉️  — Hey, is that MEYERS GRIGGS listening to PAUL REVERE by THE BEASTIE BOYS? He’s known around town as THE HELPING HAND, because he’s RELIABLE and GIVING, but ever since the Departure, he’s become more SELF-SACRIFICING and WITHDRAWN. He’s lived in Redford for HIS WHOLE LIFE and works at REDFORD PUBLIC LIBRARY as the HEAD LIBRARIAN. If you need him, you can find him in WELCOME WAGON TRAILER PARK. 

General

Name: Meyers Griggs Age: 39 Gender: Trans man Pronouns: he/him/his Sexuality: bi

Physical

Height: 6’4” Hair Color: black, going gray Eye Color: brown Build: he’s got a bit of meat on him, broad shoulders Piercings: ears pierced as a baby, but doesn’t wear earrings most of the time Style: will put on a button-up (sometimes) for work, but that’s it. constant jeans

Quick Facts

- He walks everywhere. Partly because he doesn’t own a car, but mostly because he wants to.  - He walks right into the woods most weekends. Loves backcountry camping. - Has a feud with the community college librarian. She did her best to quash his librarian dreams with her incompetence, but she only fueled his drive with spite. She’s still there, the old bitch, and if you mention that library you will certainly hear Meyers’ opinions. - He would never wish widow-hood on his sister or the loss of a parent on his niece, but he was a little disappointed his sister’s husband wasn’t Departed. - He transitioned young and dealt with the occasional bigot, but none from his immediate family. It’s been so long since he transitioned that most people forgot he ever did. - Nobody knows that he’s keeping an eye on the lighthouse, but it’s not because he keeps it a secret. Nobody asks. It’s mostly automated now, but the communication system with the Coast Guard appears to be severed, so Meyers walks up there every month or so to check on it. Someone’s gotta do it, and he has time.

Connections Sought

- Lifetime Redfordians– you’ve probably known Meyers for while now, whether it be as childhood friends or as the local librarian. - Library regulars

Backstory

A Redfordian, born and raised, and the most average of Joes. He grew up loved, and he loved in return. He and his younger sister spent their childhoods running around the Welcome Wagon and the woods with the other kids. 

When he was eight, someone found their parents’ stash of fireworks from the last Fourth of July. Smokey the Bear was well-known to Redfordians, with their proximity to the redwoods and the national park, but the kids figured they knew what they were doing. Meyers lost his hearing in one ear that day and burnt down a shed, a shit-ton of undergrowth, and four trees. Everyone is well past it now, but some of the older Redford residents still give him shit about the time he tried to light the forest on fire.

He recovered as well and as quickly as he could, but it was hard to adapt to the new levels of effort it took to listen, particularly in crowds or the noise of the elementary lunch room. He found himself in the library voluntarily for the first time in his life and decided to dedicate himself to it. He first fell in love with the safe acceptance it symbolized, then that love extended to the education, opportunity, and growth the institution advocated. He spent the duration of his online masters degree volunteering at the local library and was easily hired after graduating.

Now as the head librarian, he cultivates a welcoming space with no outside pressures. He withholds service from no one, not even members of the cults that seem to keep creeping out of the forest. Knowledge belongs to everyone. He’s a stable, reliable member of the community.

Meyers wouldn’t have known about the Departure if he hadn’t been told. His parents were already dead, and his sister, her husband, and their daughter were safe. It certainly isn’t guilt he feels, at surviving this horror untouched, but he sees himself as someone with more to give than most other people these days. His proverbial cup is fuller, so he pours from it, but it might not be as full as he thinks it is.

[cozmogony-deactivated20251003]

the departure was –for eduardo and perhaps many others– a wake-up call. the kind of thing that pulls the metaphorical rug from under your feet so hard and fast that you don't simply stumble, but plummet. getting back up from there is a herculean task. as a man of science, he was humbled, that day. forced to acknowledge how ignorant and helpless he truly was. small, too, but eduardo had always felt that way, in the face of the vastness of space. lately, though, he feels even smaller.

meyers isn't the first (and won't be the last), to look at him with concern –or is that shame?– but he's one of the few that means well by it. because meyers is kind and he trusts him, eduardo welcomes the chiding rather than taking offense. had it come from anyone else, he might have shut them down. to his credit, ed can admit he's out of his comfort zone: it isn't his field and his understanding of astrobiology was significantly different, just over a year and a half ago. this kind of book wasn't on his radar until... well, now. sometimes, a gentle steering is all one needs.

"i assume you've read this." and along with it, maybe other titles eduardo has gathered in the science-or-fiction? pile. his eyes shift between the aforementioned and meyers; once, twice, before they settle back on the librarian. "okay, i'm open to suggestions. will you help me sort through these?"

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers balks. He’d been bracing for an argument, or at least a gruff dismissal– it takes a moment to process that Eduardo isn’t shutting him down. “Well,” Meyers hedges, “I certainly haven’t read all of them. And I’m not the resident astrophysicist.” He steps into the alcove and takes a book at random from the top of one of the stacks. “But it’s not necessarily about what topic you’re educated in. Though it can certainly help to be familiar with the subject.” He nods at Eduardo. “It’s about your research practices.”

Meyers flips to the back of the book, to the notes section, and finds what he expected. He holds the book out to Eduardo, to show him. “Look at these citations. I don’t see any studies here. The author’s mostly referencing articles from a bunch of random websites. You can tell from the URLs that none of these came from scientific journals. You want to see at least some citations with a DOI or page numbers.”

As Meyers demonstrates his point to Eduardo, he processes what Eduardo is pursuing. The books crowding the room boast ominous graphics of whatever the authors and illustrators conceived aliens to look like. There are no little green men, at least, but Meyers still feels unsettled as he looks back at Eduardo.

“Are you…” Meyers struggles to phrase his question– to ask if Eduardo is really looking for aliens (and if he’s found anything that would encourage his further research at the library). “Is this research being implemented at the observatory?”

[rootsrotted]

with everything else turned upside down, he can't help but appreciate how simple meyers' tastes still are. a burger, some fries, a dr. pepper. he's more of a diet coke man himself, but there's nothing unreasonable about that. "i don't know, actually," he admits, this time with something closer to a real smile. every once in a while, he can forget about that crushing, horrible loneliness. before he remembers that it's mandatory, and sucks himself right back into it again. glancing further down the menu, something amused and apologetic finds its way upon his face. "....i hate to say this, but it looks like they've only got pepsi products." so much for a dr. pepper or a diet coke.

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers places a hand over his wounded heart. “That’s outrageous. How am I supposed to eat a–” he references the menu again– “Brisket-back Mountain without a Dr. Pepper to wash it down?” He tries for a disappointed expression, but he can’t help giggling at the ridiculous name. 

[mothborn-deactivated20251219]

Sol's thankful; too old to be rolling around on the ground. "Your henchmen should unionize; sounds like you're a terrible boss." He laughs, brushing himself off. He spares one frown for the books, hoping he hasn't damaged them.

Then he's looking at Meyers, a little longer than he knows he should. He can't help it. Since the Departure, he always finds himself looking too long, thinking too hard, probing too much. He's watching him for signs of unrest, signs of pain. Is his friend okay? He could ask- he knows he can ask- but he always finds the words hard to choke out. Instead, he stares. The turns his gaze sharply, warmth creeping up his face. Meyers looks alright, he decides. At least, he isn't bleeding everywhere and at least... he's here.

"I'm here to, uh..." Sol trails off. Checking in on Meyers is the honest answer, but it's not the one he wants to give. Thinking of a lie takes some time. "Learn. Read." He nods. "Library things." He waves a hand out. "You wouldn't be able to handle the truth. Y'know. Party pooper you are an' everythin'." He chuckles. "This is a top secret operation. High clearance. Scopin' the place out..." He smiles. "What'd'ya think about 'soup club'? I'm thinkin' we set up shop right here." He gestures to the reading tables. "Eat soup."

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers throws his head back and laughs. “Not on your damn life. Soup? In the library? Haven’t you caused enough damage already?” He starts pointedly gathering up the books, wincing as he bends over. It adds to the effect, making him look like a hurting, overworked old librarian, but it isn’t just for effect. Meyers doesn’t feel old, but his knees sometimes beg to differ.

He glances over at Sol as he piles the books together. Meyers hadn’t missed the way Sol looked at him, quiet and searching, or the way he’d performed his answer. Meyers has seen that look on his friend’s face a few times over the many years they’ve known each other, but he’s alarmed at how frequently he’s seen it since the Departure. He hesitates to push the question– knowing Sol, any inquiry could be deflected swiftly with a joke (again). So, instead, he tries to open another door.

“You know, I feel like we haven’t gone hiking in a while. You up for another trip sometime soon?”

[rootsrotted]

"wouldn't surprise me at all. i wouldn't question you if you said you saw her leaving on a broomstick," he admits, shaking his head. he's more thankful that meyers' has chosen a spot in the very back than anything else. they don't have to act like it's a secret meeting—because it's not!—but alan has always done best in the shadows. the less people notice him, the better. especially outside of the commune. everything, eventually, one way or another, finds its way back to his father. and everything hurts worse that way. whether it's luck or fate, who the hell knows? but alan recognizes the signs meyers throws his way. he remembers those long summers, a lifetime away now, where they had crouched in the dirt and communicated without words. somehow, it had always felt easier to be honest with his hands—something that doesn't readily make its way to his mouth, to his words. i'm glad you're here. grateful as alan is, it makes him feel sick. after a long moment, a swallow, a shifting of his weight, he meets meyer's eyes. his mouth twists, but it's not quite a smile. "i appreciate it." and he does, on some level. "what's the last thing you got here?" an appeal to changing the subject—not a lie, nor the truth, just a pivot.

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers follows the conversation where Alan leads it this time, moving on. He knows he’s been pushing it. 

“I’m a simple man of simple tastes. Burger, fries, and a Dr. Pepper. Can’t be beat. They don’t call it that here, though, do they?” He tilts the menu up and does a double take.

“Wh– The Good, the Bad, and the Burger?” He shoots Alan an incredulous look then goes back to the menu. “It didn’t used to be called that, did it…?”  He snorts. “The Bacon of Burger Scruggs. These are awful.”

[rootsrotted]

lips drawn into a thin line, alan nods. that shit. one way of putting it, that's for sure. he doesn't know how to actually respond to it. it all feels like a big, cosmic joke, but that's very self-centered of him. he has the self-awareness to realize it. at the very most, it's a shared warning—but not a new one. cherish what you have before it's gone has been a saying, probably, since before there were sayings. alan feels a stab of guilt every time he thinks of his brother now, and another thinking of his father. he wishes his brother was here, for all the shit they gave each other. he wishes his father wasn't. he shouldn't wish that his father wasn't. finally his lips part, but only to draw in a breath of fresh air. half a mistake. he nearly chokes on it. he doesn't really know what to think anymore, let alone how to express it. i'm glad to still be around, at least. alan can't say the same for himself. a selfish, horrible, disgusting sliver maybe more than a sliver wishes that for every single person that had vanished, that he could have just quietly taken their place. he had always felt outside of the world, like he didn't belong. whatever had taken the others, if there had been any force of will at all, didn't seem to agree. "i'm glad you are, too," he croaks, a cop out. a little stronger, he adds, "i think grace would have thrown me out of the building if she found me asleep."

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers snorts, caught off guard. “And she could have, too. Literally. I swear I’ve seen her pick up the whole cart of books instead of wheeling it around.” Meyers doesn’t miss the way Alan redirects the conversation. He looks at the guy, the way he huddles in his seat, his lips pressed tightly together, and it’s easy to remember the kid he used to be: small, quiet. 

In hindsight, Meyers can say they were friends, though as a kid himself he would never have admitted it. Alan was too weird, too much younger, too tied to his family’s bad name. But there was that moment when Alan had realized that Meyers was partially deaf and excitedly gestured at him.

Meyers had been able to recognize the purposeful way Alan moved his hands as communication, but that was it. They found each other a few times that summer, spending humid mornings crouched in the dirt patch over by the dumpsters, Alan teaching Meyers his first rudimentary signs. Outside of those lessons, things didn’t change between them. But when Meyer took his first official ASL class at Northpoint when he was twenty-four, he found himself thinking fondly of Alan, young and happy to share.So he doesn’t say it out loud; he signs it to Alan instead, private and personal, and makes it easy to pretend nothing was said at all– I’m glad you are here.

[rootsrotted]

"i don't know about that. like i said, i'm not about to appreciate the ice," he says, shaking his head, half-joking. he's starting to relax, he finds. meyers is easier to talk to than he remembers. maybe that's just part of growing up. or maybe his associations of this place skew negative. there are good and bad aspects of everything, redford included. he had missed the environment, the familiarity... there are things he had not missed, too. many, many things. sometimes it's even hard to tell the difference. ducking into the shop, alan is relieved to follow meyers to his usual spot, isolated in a corner. he's never been the type to want to stand out, but less so now than ever. the location makes him more agreeable to questioning, whether he realizes it or not. "not too warm. well, not everywhere. i went a few different places." too many, he would say, up and down the contiguous united states. there's a reason it had taken him so long to get back to redford after he had left... and it wasn't hesitation in the driver's seat. circumstance, more like. "maybe it's stupid, but everything feels so different now. even when it's all the same. i don't know, can something be both?" he shakes his head, humorlessly humorous. "it's funny." but not really. "ever since i left, all i thought about was coming home. now, all i think about is leaving again."

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers laughs a little. “I think that’s actually pretty normal. Especially after all that shit happened.” He scribbles his hand in the air, attempting to evoke the mass hysteria, confusion, and loss that was (is) the Departure. “Sure, it’s the same town, but things are fucking different.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the grocery store. “Like, where the fuck did Joel go? Is he Departed? Is he dead? For that matter, are any of the Departed dead? Someone’s obviously still running the store, so maybe Joel’s around? I don’t know.” It’s funny, a local joke even, to laugh about the mysterious, eponymous Joel. But think too hard about it and soon you’re thinking of all the other mysteries, each a person contained within the larger mystery that is the Departure. Meyers leans back from the table, folds his arms again, and tries to dial it back a little. “I don’t know.”

He glances at Alan, then looks around the old bar again. He’s not sure if this place would have actually had more customers before the Departure than it currently does. Statistically, probably. But it’s nice to look out at the place and see those few people still lingering. He recognizes a few, just from seeing them around town, and that’s nice, too. To know people.

“I’m glad to still be around, at least,” Meyers shrugs. “Not sure what the alternative is, but I like it here.” He’s not quite sure if “here” means Redford or life itself, but Meyers hopes that at least one resonates with Alan.

[cozmogony-deactivated20251003]

the comment elicits a chuckle out of him, the kind of quiet laughter that could easily be mistaken for a huff, if unfamiliar with eduardo's style. grateful for meyers' help -and tacit understanding- he nods, going as far as hinting a smile, "i had a few things to catch up on."

it would've been easy to forgo the library altogether, when life was still functional and his sources available (something he would be sorely regretting now); but ed had always been taken with its old-fashioned charm and the people that ran it so smoothly. in meyers he'd found, if not a friend, at least somewhat of a kindred spirit. not just a librarian, but a bright mind he occasionally brainstormed with.

the trajectory of the other's gaze doesn't escape eduardo's notice. he turns the book in his hold, as if weighting it. the cover looks back at him almost mocking him, as if saying: how the mighty fall! ed is conscious of the oddity of his choice -and calling it "odd" is an understatement- but when the fabric of reality unravels before your very eyes, who are you to deny a possibility, however absurd it might be?

"same as everybody else, these days: trying to explain what happened eighteen months ago." an obsession of his that eduardo doesn't keep exactly secret. when he peers back at meyers, there's the glimmer of a challenge reflected in his eyes. and he presses on, "think the concept of extraterrestrial life is weirder than people disappearing into thin air? be honest."

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers scratches at his cheek, conscious that Eduardo has already clocked his misgivings. “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose not.” 

After the Departure, a lot of the more… imaginative theorists suddenly found themselves seeming much more credible than before. In the months that followed, when absolutely no progress was made investigating the event and no one was making any concrete challenges to fringe theorists (though many neglect to note that the lack of concrete challenges does not signify an abundance of concrete support), those fringe theorists experienced a boom in popularity. 

Meyers has ordered his fair share of absurd titles at the requests of his patrons, and he has read a lot of them, mostly out of curiosity. (His favorite is an evolution of the flat Earth theory– the Departed are all simply on the other side.) No one can say he hasn’t done his due diligence. Unfortunately, the persistent lack of evidence surrounding the event has yet to change.

Meyers admires Eduardo. He’s a goddamn intelligent guy– he has to be if he’s running the observatory. But, many things have been lost since the Departure– and it’s not just the Departed. Faiths were shaken that day, whether those faiths were in God, science, or humanity. And it does shake Meyers to see Eduardo, a man dedicated to science perhaps more than any other thing, holding that book.

Meyers gestures at the book. “But that author, Ed? You can’t take him seriously; his citations are a circle jerk of pseudoscientists. There’s not a shred of evidence among the group.”

[rootsrotted]

alan nods, trying for a smile. truthfully, he's always so far encroached into his own space that he often misses the life going on around him. he spends so much time trying to avoid eye contact with grace and meyers that the specifics, the jests between them, are lost. sheepish, he jolts to attention when he's addressed. he isn't used to being talked to, these days. not since he had left town. "oh, really? i go there on my lunchbreak too," he says, matching him step to step. meyer's, of course, has a bit larger gait than he does. alan is too used to making himself small. "is it weird to say i've missed the cold?" he's cautious in referencing anything about his failed emancipation, but the average person isn't so bothered about that. "i guess i won't be saying that when i've got to drive in ice again. so far i've avoided it." there he goes talking about driving again. one-track mind, and all that. "let's try PNW's, just for something new." bold, in the barest possible sense. "or... i guess new is the wrong word, isn't it?"

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers is glad that Alan is opening up a bit. Or, at the least, getting a bit more chatty. He shrugs at Alan’s comment on the cold. “I’ve never lived anywhere but here, so I don’t know if I’d miss it. I guess it’s good to know I should be appreciating what I’ve got.” 

“I’ve also managed to avoid driving in the ice.” Meyers laughs at his own joke. He can drive, but he’s never owned a car in his life. Why spend all that money when a bike or his own feet would do? He repeats that like a mantra this time of year, especially when he’s spending close to an hour trudging through snow.

PNW’s is just a block or so down the road. Meyers feels the tiny tingling tapping of raindrops on his nose as he holds open the door for Alan then ducks in after. The bar has a glowing warmth to it that quickly dispels any nasty weather clinging to its patrons’ backs. Like Alan said, the place is unmistakably ancient, but in a welcoming way. Its once-crisp edges are softened by time and use, such that the place feels familiar even to tourists.

There’s only a few others in the barat this time of day, but Meyers still navigates quickly to his usual spot, in a corner, against the wall, with his bad ear facing away from the commotion. It helps to know there’s nothing he needs to listen for on that side. 

Meyers props his elbows up on the dull table. It seems to have been scrubbed so many times that the busboys wiped clean through the varnish. He attempts to probe Alan lightly. “So, you went somewhere warm then?”

[mothborn-deactivated20251219]

"Tell your great-great grandfather that he needs to learn how to build better shelves." Sol smiles. Meyers's face is always a nice face to see, and not just because he's generally attractive. Friends are hard to come by and harder to keep when apparently they can disappear without warning. Sol never said it– it's one of those pride things, too much inside of him choking the words up– but he's happy Meyers is here. If he thinks about it for too long, he'll probably start crying. Now that's a new club idea: cry club. It'll be popular.

"Hey, now." Sol lifts up his hands. "Easy there. I'm injured." Sol displays the tiny cut on the tip of his pinky. He squeezes it so a drop of shiny red blood stares at both of them. "See? You're tryin' to extort an injured man. That's gonna lose you some karma. Now are you gonna help me up, Griggs, or are you gonna make me listen to the rest of your villain monologue?" He laughs. "If you start twirlin' your mustache, I'm rollin' away."

[windsiintheeast]

“Don’t bleed on my carpet. My henchmen don’t get paid enough to clean bloodstains.” Meyers leans down to tug Sol to his feet and books go cascading to the aforementioned carpet.

Meyers can’t help smiling, always happy to see his friend despite the mess he brought. Sol has a way of brightening up whatever kind of day Meyers happens to be having, good or bad. Today hasn’t been horrible, but he’s had a few tough patrons lately. In fact, he’s relieved that this complaint turned out to be Sol instead of anything more serious.

“What are you doing here? Or are you just here to make my job harder?”

[rootsrotted]

"you're right," he agrees, nodding. "thanks, by the way. for helping out." and for not making a big spectacle out of it, most of all... but that seems like a bit silly to say in a library. isn't that kind of the point? "...i'll just leave them," he continues; "i wouldn't want to end up losing them or something. i'm terrible at keeping track of things, you know?" not entirely true, but less intense than the truth. he really doesn't want the wrong people to know he's reading them. "where did you say you wanted to go again?" now he's just changing the subject.

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers shrugs. “Yeah, man, of course.” He heaves his armful of books onto the cart and winks at Grace, the clerk currently on desk duty. She scowls. “I’m heading out for lunch,” he says to her. “Make sure Tiana processes those holds before I’m back.”

“Good riddance,” Grace says and flaps her hand at him, shooing. “We won’t miss you.”

“She’s lying,” Meyers says cheerfully as he reaches behind the desk to grab his jacket. He hesitates a moment, then discreetly snags one of their mental health pamphlets. Maybe he can find a way to work it into their conversation, or maybe he’ll slip it into Alan’s pocket at lunch.

Meyers looks over at Alan as they walk out the door. Teasing Grace is as part of his routine as opening the library is, but today he’s hoping it also serves to lighten the gloom that clings to Alan. A gloom that is reflected by the weather. “I usually pick something up at Joel’s for lunch then find a bench.” Meyers blinks up at the gray sky as they step out into the brisk air. It’s not raining now, but it surely won’t be long before it does. “This time of year, though, PNW’s might be warmer.”

[mothborn-deactivated20251219]

Sol's never been lucky. Then again, these are unlucky times, so maybe it's not him for once. That's what he thinks as the books rain down on him: just some regular bad luck and not some cosmic fuckery of Departure variety. He'd been trying to grab one book off a higher shelf when the rusted thing gave way, spilling book after book on top of him. After two books, he's okay. After ten, he's on the floor, flailing like a beached fish.

"Help," he bleats lamely to the person walking towards him. Sol is piled under books. "Help me in the name of...library." A grin creaks up his lips; everything hurts, but nothing stings worse than passing up the opportunity for a good (read: bad) joke. "Hey," he starts, "do you think they'll give me free books for life on account of this serious and grievous injury?" He chuckles, amused by himself. "Kidding, kidding. I know all the books are free, this is a library. Or is it... maybe I'm at the casino right now."

Sol's aware that the worst of his wounds is probably a paper cut.

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers stares down at Sol in amused disbelief. He’s tempted to think that Sol did this on purpose, just to mess with him right before closing. However, he does know Sol well enough to believe that this truly is just another Sol Situation he’s somehow blundered himself into.

Meyers shakes his head and gazes mournfully at the bookshelf. “This shelf was antique, you know. The last of its kind.” He ponders it a moment, then adds for good measure: “It was the only surviving heirloom from my great-great grandfather.” He turns on Sol, arms crossed. “You better have deep pockets, buddy. I’ll take you to court over this.”

It’s all a joke of course, but it is tinted by reality (as all jokes tend to be). Library funding has never been a high priority, and it's even less so after the Departure. Meyers doesn’t have shelf-replacing money lying around. The shelf is expendable, he supposes. He can shift the other books around, but it won’t be a great look for the already-struggling library.

[pandemoniacs]

Books are sacred, they're full of priceless knowledge, and anyone who burns them is evil, right? But he tells himself, 'i'm not evil, i'm not some nazi fuckin' hitler youth...' He might be the scum of the earth but he's certainly not that much of a low life. Except when he's in a pinch - and he's itching so much for any sort of high that he feels like he's about to scratch his skin clean off. He's got a decent size nug in his pocket. All ready to smoke except for a lack of rolling papers.

So he decides, well, it's not like anyone will miss this nowadays, and swipes a Bible from the bookstand. The alcove in the back of the library is a perfect hiding spot for his nefarious intentions. He opens the book, the binding creaking as he turns to Corinthians 10:13. Keller scans the text, something something temptation, then rips the page clean out. The thin scritta is a good enough substitute for a nice even burn. He's rolling it into a perfect joint until he's interrupted -- "Fuck, dude. Can't a guy...p-pray in peace?" he scoffs, shoving the joint in his pocket. He does his best to save face but his guilty cadence gives him away.

[windsiintheeast]

“Keller.” Meyers sighs and rubs at his brow, then throws an exasperated arm out to gesture at the setting. “Really? Were you about to light that in the goddamn library? There’s kids in here.”

Meyers does not miss the Redford Police Department, but god if their dissolution didn’t pull the rug out from under the librarians. Meyers can count on one hand the number of times he called the police on a patron, but the number of times he’s threatened patrons with the police? That’s a much larger number. And with the Sniffers too inconsistent to rely on, Meyers is operating with much more limited resources-- i.e. himself.

So, Meyers has been doing the best he can to solidify the library’s reputation as a place welcoming to all, and emphasizing that it takes a community effort to keep it that way. All in all, it’s worked out alright. He figures that the number of incidents is about the same as it always was– the main difference is the amount of energy he’s now required to spend on each one. But, he’s found that a healthy helping of shame can do wonders to get people to take their mess out of the library.

Meyers holds out a hand for the Bible. “If you get out now, I won’t make you replace the book.”

[rootsrotted]

there's something sheepish in his expression, like he's been caught feeding his brussel sprouts to the dog or taking a cookie from the jar before dinner. in fact, alan is just hoping that if he's apologetic enough that the news somehow won't make it back to his father. it's innocent enough, right? he's just reading. nobody had ever gotten in trouble for reading. except for when they have. a woosh of relief escapes him before he can call it back. there's always a thought in his head about being followed, but meyer's has never seemed like that type. maybe that's the problem. it's hard to take people as they are on assumptions alone. just because he hasn't given him any trouble as of late doesn't mean he's trustworthy... but alan could run himself in circles about it for hours. "no, i'm not busy. let me just—" he cuts off, grimacing at the few towers he's made. "let me just clean up first."

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers starts picking up some of the books to help. "We can just chuck these on the re-shelving carts. Give one of the clerks something to do." He looks at Alan over the pile of books in his arms to gauge his reaction. "Unless you wanted to check any of these out?

[cozmogony-deactivated20251003]

an inspection was foreseen. as out-of-it as eduardo might sometimes appear, he's actually quite aware of a plethora of things. once a gift, now he considers it a hindrance.

although overall positive, his experience in redford, like any other town it is plagued by a problem (now worsened by the population's thinning numbers): there's no privacy. every single life is conducted under a microscope, actions recounted and delivered mouth to ear in a mockery of the telephone game.

ed had noticed the woman's looks and her growing displeasure, with either his frequent trips to the shelves to gather more books or his presence altogether. maybe (but that's merely a supposition) she was coveting his spot; the alcove is, after all, the best seat in the library. needless to say, she was not at all subtle. from the moment she left, eduardo could have timed how long it would take for meyers to show up.

he was in the middle of re-organizing the stack of tomes on the table; fenced in by a handful of them, piled into a makeshift great wall that wasn't enough to shield him from indescreet eyes. it's an unstable structure, almost comically so: towers of volumes just a gust-of-wind-away from collapsing. okay, perhaps he got carried away.

"before you ask: yes— i am planning on reading all of them. how long will it take? your guess is as good as mine."

[windsiintheeast]

“At your rate?” Meyers asks. He reaches out to adjust a slightly top-heavy stack of books. “A couple of hours maybe.” 

Meyers takes a look around the space, crammed with information. Though he doesn’t recognize most of the titles, he’s glad to see them in use. The astrophysics section of the library isn’t big, but it’s been well cared for. Eduardo’s requests over the years have filled it out into a healthy collection, albeit one that isn’t pursued very often. Or, to be more exact, one that is pursued by a singular researcher. 

His gaze falls on a text that he does recognize from one of the public library threads he trolls every now and then. He remembers the original poster being surprised that something that is so obviously pseudoscience was so popular.

“It’s been a while, Eduardo. What are you working on this time?”

[jellyrifkin]

Lying isn't Jelly's strong suit. Never has been. Lying is more his sister's speed, and thank god for that, because it kept the two of them out of a lot of trouble when they were younger. Now, all of the shit Jelly steps in is his problem. He gives a weak shrug, a half-laugh, and a hard swallow.

"Just, um, well, it was nothin', really. I think I made it all up in my head that I dropped something." Oh yeah, smooth. Truth is, the alcove has been the latest hot spot for moving the local cocaine - little baggies tucked into the space between the carpet and the wood flooring means safe, reliable deals for those unable to meet up in person. Unfortunately, it seems that Jelly's order has been compromised. He's out a fat hundo, and worse than that, he's got the head librarian going full Sniffer on the safe zone. Jelly hops up, only briefly woozy from the sudden height, and checks a watch he's not actually wearing.

"Damn. It's late. The library usually open this late? Feels late. Don't you have, uh, library duties?"

[windsiintheeast]

Meyers rakes the alcove with his eyes. Again, he finds nothing. But Jelly's protests confirm the opposite. "This is 'library duties,'" Meyers says, gesturing between the two of them. "Making sure people don't do dumb shit in the library." With Jelly, his professional front is quick to fall, and Meyers slips into a cadence more vulgar than what he usually puts on for patrons.

Back in the day, it wasn't too difficult to find a Welcome Wagon kid who smoked. Most kids had quick access to their parents' stash-- not many hiding places in a trailer after all-- and those who didn't could easily bum cigarettes from the others. It had been bad, especially in his late teens, but Meyers feels he's knocked the habit down to a reasonable level. He's convinced himself he only smokes when he needs to. The battle had been hard enough that now he only occasionally flirts with quitting-- he'll admire her from afar, but admit his feelings? Never.

Jelly's a bit older, but Meyers knows he's as much a product of the Welcome Wagon's youth smoking club as Meyers is. Though Meyers never fell into any of the other vices that line the narrow nicotine path, he's not sure he can say the same for the other man.

Meyers takes a step closer, blocking the entryway just a bit more, and looks Jelly square in the eyes. Jelly's jumpy, sure, but Meyers can't tell if it's because he's been caught in the act (whatever act that may be), or because he's got something else going on. Meyers lowers his voice. "You do remember you're in a library, right? With kids? If you lost something, I don't want anyone else to find it. Do you?"

[rootsrotted]

"i wouldn't call it dozing," he mumbles, not quite convincing. he hasn't meant to treat the library in the same was as his bed... but now it feels safer. it's hard to relax back at... home. "i just..." he grimaces, uncertain of his excuses. "it's nothing. i just got ahead of myself, that's all. i've been up all night." scrubbing at his face with his hands, alan afterwards stoops over to collect a few wayward books. there's a moment where he hesitates, but only a moment. "i'm doing alright. just looking for something new to read, i guess." ignore the fact that it's all relevant nonfiction...

[windsiintheeast]

“Heavy stuff to start with.” Meyers gives Alan a look pointed enough to convey that Meyers knows he’s covering things up. Alan doesn’t strike a particularly convincing figure, still crouched on the floor, looking small and wan. He’s always kinda felt sorry for the guy, even since they were kids. He remembers back when Alan left town. It had certainly taken Alan long enough, getting out from under his dad’s thumb, and Meyers was glad to see him do it. 

It had been like a kick in the gut that one evening not long after the departure when Meyers heard Alan slip back into his previously-abandoned trailer. Meyers has been quietly keeping an eye out for the guy since, hoping that Alan somehow just missed his hometown, but knowing that isn’t the real reason he’s back. 

Meyers distantly wonders what kind of company Alan’s been keeping since his return. Cultists? Or perhaps no one at all? He sighs, then mentally runs through his schedule. He’s got leftover pizza in the work fridge, but that’ll keep. “Are you busy right now? I haven’t taken my lunch break yet. We could catch up.”