[Gift] Library Litigation

Airadice was a fairly busy city, no matter the time of day. Or night, as it might be. Even in the bookstore, closed and lights off, the bright lights of the city filter through the curtains in the windows of nearby apartments and catch on the wet stony texture of the streets. Really, of all the nights to lose track of something, especially your own limbs, this was not the one the excuse of darkness would work for. Luckily, he can blame the flash of lightning nearly blinding him, because he definitely didn't jump at the first crack of thunder.

It was going to be a long night. Every night was a long night to Quincey, but starting it by knocking over nearly an entire shelf of books on his way to leave the apartment he shared with Baxter was never an omen of good fortune.

And maybe, if Baxter actually bothered to sort his books by literally any standard system this wouldn't have been a problem, but Quincey couldn't just put the books back on the shelf as they were.

Quincey shoots an impatient look out the door into the pouring rain, and gives a baleful sigh. This was not the first time something like this had happened, but normally Quincey wouldn't need to dry out his coat before his night shift, and the thought of having to clean up this mess at the end of his shift, when he was so worn down, just so Baxter could open with his usual spotless floors was torturous.

Still, it took Quincey a moment to gather up some paper and even longer to actually scribble out a note to Baxter that he really needed to organize this place.

...He may have rewritten it a few times just so it didn't seem too harsh.

Maybe, without Quincey to help, he'd manage to figure something out for himself for once...

He quickly made his way out of the building, trying not to think too hard about it. He still had a work shift to get through. Hopefully.

When he returned home in the early morning light, rain drizzling slowly to a stop around him, he had nearly forgotten about the toppled books. His eyes caught on a pile of books behind the register, and for a moment he figured it was just Baxter adding some of the new books in the store room into the system, but the shelf off to the side, and the small bag with a few screws, the duster sitting half mangled, and the spilling trashcan gave away that it was probably the exact same shelf he had upended the previous evening.

"Baxter?" He called out, knowing that the bell on the door and the rising sun had given away his presence. The store wasn't actually open yet, after all.

"Sup, Quince! Look-ee here, I found this gem in that pile of books you left, it's an antique copy of that book I told you 'bout! High chance it's a genuine medieval manuscript, it's heartbreaking I can't keep it."

"I think you said that when you were stocking it on the shelves. Maybe before, when you put it in the system. You could keep it if you wanted, y'know."

"Bah! It's knowledge, meant to be shared, totally wouldn't be chill of me to hoard such treasure!

"'Sides, because I saw it again with fresh eyes, I went and did some research into how collectors keep them, and I ended up learning a whole lot about how the copied books way back when, and then, I went and tidied up the shelf. It was covered all in dust, and then when the duster got caught in the screws, I realized the entire thing was loose! Seems some of it got water stains at some point, and it went and warped the wood a bit."

Quincey blinked for a moment, glancing back at the shelf leaning by the front counter. He hadn't noticed anything wrong with it before, but this certainly explained the mess.

"Then, I had to check the shelf beneath for any water damage, make sure it wasn't a leaky roof somehow, maybe a plumbing problem, and I found this one book with some damaged pages, so I've spent the past few... well I don't know how long really, but I was reading this book and going through and straightening out all the wrinkles."

Baxter was babbling at this point, already walking back into the storeroom with the book he was so enamored with. Quincey didn't even have to look at the shelf to know it was an even worse mess than he'd left it.

He forced himself to look anyway.

Surprisingly, the shelf above it had been dusted, and the floor was clear of items.

The books were no more organized.

"Uh, look Baxter, when I asked you to clean up my mess, I was kinda' hoping you'd be able to just... put 'em back up in time for opening. Which, by the way, is pretty soon, right? ...Maybe alphabetize a few?"

Baxter spun on his heels in a moment, his book left on a small stand in the corner.

"Oh right, gotta' take out the trash 'nd all! Thanks, Quincey!"

Quincey mourned his lost sleep, knowing he'd have to help Baxter open, at least, but he was also kind of glad to have something to keep his paws busy. He could spend the next hour or so just mindlessly sorting books, surrounded by the smell of wood and paper. If he were lucky, Baxter would be just a bit too busy greeting customers to do more than idly chatter in the background.

Unfortunately, it seemed the rain had scared off the early bookworms, and though the store was not technically open, Baxter was also puttering about trying to help organize. It would have been helpful if he could stop somewhere logical, like the end of the shelf, or if he did things like collect books from elsewhere, or leave space for new books, but Baxter didn't live outside of the present, and Quincey was quite often just redoing everything Baxter had done just to figure out what exactly he had done.

This wouldn't have bothered him at all either, but Baxter didn't work in silence, and with every extra minute Quincey spent organizing, the conversation would jump wildly between benign noise and the same tired argument.

"Wow, that looks great! You should get in here more often, It'd take an exorbitant effort to seek someone of equal skill, you totally rock at stuff like this."

"I hardly have the time to do this every day, Baxter. Night shift's as grueling as ever. I can't do both."

And around in circles they go again. There's a moment of pause, as Baxter squints at him. For a second, it seems like he might finally give in, and when he does speak, it's clear he has broken.

"Alright," It's just not the way Quincey had hoped, "That's it. Why do you keep working that job Quincey? I can see how it wears at you, with nary a benefit in sight, but you keep lettin' 'em kill you. You're great at this—you're awesome!—but you act like it's euthanasia to quit! I pay just as well, the hours aren't nearly as isolating, and you'd be doing something real with your time."

"I am doing something real. Security's important, and I 'aint so big as to think I'm above this job."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't hate it, Baxter."

"...Sure, man." Baxter's tone was so flat as to be off-putting, but with a single breath he swept his scarf around his neck, adjusting his fur, and pushing the rest of the books back onto the shelves haphazardly, despite Quincey's cringing and aborted movements to swat his paws away. "Grab some Z's, Quincey. You've helped plenty today."

Quincey felt guilty to have apparently dimmed Baxter's energy, but he could feel exhaustion pulling at his eyelids, the same way his tail was dragging against the wooden floor. Better to sleep tonight.