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An antiquated system; Tag: High-Five
Topic Started: Mar 9 2014, 02:46 AM (156 Views)
Pyrrhic
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Time: Seven PM
Date: March 2nd, 2014



It hurt being away from his mom and dad. Such a large part of Ros's life had been leading up to finding them, and having to leave them behind in Syracuse dug at him like a thorn in his side. At his trial he'd blown the cover and a reputation could be hard to escape. A guy once farted in class in the fifth grade and was forever branded as "Squirts", even after most students had grown out of the toilet humor age. Just what aftermath did his being a mutant brand him with? Were his parents really safe, or were they just telling him what he wanted to hear when he called? Such concerns caused Ros to chew on his thumbnail when he let himself think of them, something that happened admittedly too frequently.

So Ros did things to distract himself from such thoughts. He played minesweeper on the computer, a game that he understood but just could not get the hang of, or walked around the hallways that were open to him, learning the layout of his new home. One particularly dull day he looked up online all new ways of lacing up and tying his boots. If he just kept himself from going near the phone he could be fine. It was only when he started to dial or had just hung up that his anxiety was the worst. Having Blue at the school would have helped. His conure was so demanding of attention and so in tune to the emotions of those around him that Ros would have no choice but to calm down. Already he had a damaged ear from a seagull. Getting his lip ripped by his pet was not high on his priority list.

As always though, the thing that made Ros feel the most secure was his books. He'd come to the school with some of course. Brave Story, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, White Fang, and even a couple of science fiction novels. For too long now he'd been turned off from the genre. How could he claim to be a bibliophile and reject any genre that he use to devour so readily? While he did love the ones that he brought with him, the words and pages being a familiar escape, he did need more than just what he brought with him. Which meant only one thing, frequent trips to the school's library to find new reading materials. Sundays, Ros found, were a great day to spend tucked away in a corner of the library with a stack of books.

Today was no exception to his rule. However before Ros could get down to the actual task of reading there was one slight issue. While the library used the Dewey Decimal system, an antiquated form of organization that most people didn't even know about, books weren't always put back where they were suppose to. To say that this irked Ros was a bit of an understatement. The closest he had to a paying job was helping his dad out in his bookstore, and as such Ros grew to hate seeing a book shoved randomly on any shelf that was nearby. With a heavy sigh Ros started clearing off the shelf he'd been studying, setting the books neatly in a pile to sort them out.
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High-Five
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Ah, the library – the place where countless books were stored, and the place where students could come and relax, read a book, or catch up on late homework. This was one of Justin’s favourite places; he could come and spend hours reading a book. Sometimes, he had to be texted by a friend to get out of the room, for food and for, you know, classes. If Justin didn’t have things to do, he’d probably live in the library. Even when he was younger, Justin would spend hours reading, and from that, he’d write short stories. Justin had an amazing imagination, and he was hoping he could use his imagine in his training.

Currently, the disabled mutant was reading a very famous book; Tom Sawyer. It was certainly fascinating and there was a lot he could talk about. At the moment, the library seemed pretty much void of life, which Justin didn’t mind. Justin would get so engrossed in a book that a pig could rampage in and break a hundred things and he wouldn’t notice. He could even get tapped on the shoulder and he wouldn’t feel it, well, not right away, anyway. He was in a little corner of the library, one that he always frequented. No one really went there, so Justin wasn’t really bothered that much, thankfully.

An idea then occurred to him. There must be a book on fairy tales that compared other fairy tales to the ones he was reading in this book. Getting up, Justin moved to a shelf where there comparative books, but there were all in the wrong order. As he moved down the aisle, he saw more unorganised books. What the hell, why did people just put books wherever? There was an order to them; an alphabetical order!

“Come on, people! Put the books back where you found them? It’s not that hard! Find a book where you see it, then put it back!”

As he moved down, he saw a guy further down.

“Oh, hi. Sorry to disturb you. All the books are in total chaos; not in alphabetical order. The nerve of people!”
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Pyrrhic
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The spines of the book were tilted so that Ros could better study their call numbers. He knew the Dewey Decimal system, but there were some subjects that had overlaps. Greek myths were typically categorized underneath mythologies, but the teen had problems understanding how ancient Greek tales were considered myths, but a newer civilization, such as the United States had their tales put underneath folklore. A myth was only a myth when it had centuries to gather dust.

Ros worked hard at re-organizing the messed up section of books. The repetitive action required just enough thought that his brain was distracted from any other thoughts, especially heavy ones that required more brainpower. Hands filled with the first organized chunk the teen put them back onto the shelf. There was something comforting and familiar about seeing the books in their proper place. Even if they weren't necessarily Ros's first choice for reading materials, they were still carefully thought out words that had been sent out into the world.

It would seem that Ros wasn't the only one who had qualms about the way that books had been haphazardly shoved back on to the shelves. There was someone complaining about it, vocally rather than mentally cursing the disorganization. Owner of said voice was making their way towards Ros, and the teen looked up. He'd have to guess that this new arrival wasn't that far off in age from himself. Seeing a teen in a library was still a novel notion to Ros. Usually when you saw someone between the ages of twelve and twenty in a library back in Syracuse, they had been forced into being there.

What confused Ros, besides just the fact that he was looking at someone near his age who didn't look like they were being tortured, was that they said the library was in chaos. Well yes, some of the books were out of place, but they weren't all just in random places. "They aren't all so bad. It's not suppose to be by alphabetical order. It's by call numbers."
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Justin had been about to reorganise them alphabetically, when the other teen, also a brunette, said they were ordered by call numbers. Justin had been looking at the teen when he had said this and then refocused on the books. He made a noise of contemplation, thinking of which ones to do first. He then had a thought. The junior level student turned to the other student and spoke.

“Hey, would you mind helping me sort through these books. I’ll be all day otherwise.” Justin hoped the other guy said yes. The brunette had been thinking of totally re-doing the library himself, but since the other guy was here, maybe they could do it together. It would make things so much easier for the mutant with the handprinting affects. “I’m Justin, by the way. Thankfully, I have my gloves in my pockets, so we can shake if you wish. If not, a simple wave shall suffice.”

Justin picked up a stack of books from the shelf and put them on a table. He gave the teen a small smile. He wondered what this guy’s power was. He was always interested to know what powers people had; it was fascinating to the brunette. His mother could produce black, spiky, organic vines from her pores, which when faced with, was a little scary. He’d freaked out a little when she had displayed her powers, but had naturally grown accustomed to them. Justin had been glad his mother had been there when his powers had manifested, he wouldn’t have known what to do, otherwise. In a way, he was sort of lucky, having a mutant for a mother. It had made the transition from human to mutant a whole lot easier, though he now knew that mutants were feared and hated, all because they had powers. You’d think people would be awed and somewhat respected. Mutants had powers that most people only dreamed of having.

Since arriving at the Institute, the student had seen many awesome powers, and no doubt he would see many more. He couldn’t believe how many mutants there were in the world. It was comforting to know that the mutant race wasn’t going to die out any time soon, and since the Institute had some new additions, namely Pearl Ford, the mutant race was sure to keep on growing.

Justin sat down and started sorting through the books, humming Emily Browning’s version of ‘Sweet Dreams are Made of This’ from Sucker Punch. He loved that song; it was so epic. He put it on repeat so many times, and each time, he imagined some grand scene. It never got old.

At last, Justin asked the question he had wanted to ask.
“What can you do?”
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Pyrrhic
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The problem with being at a school of mutants is that while you are prepared for people to have powers, sometimes you just don't know what to say when they come out with some strange line hinting at what they did. Ros just nodded hi head, not sure how to react to "Good thing I've got my gloves on". Of course now that the other teen, Justin he said his name was, Ros's attention was brought right to the gloves. He knew that it was impolite to stare, but he couldn't help but do so. How was it that he didn't notice Justin's gloves before? Because he had had his nose in books. "Well... I guess then you won't need to wash your hands afterwards."

"I'm Ros," he introduced himself. With a roll of his neck, Ros straightened himself back up. One hand was still holding onto a stack of three books, but the other was free enough to take Justin up on the offer of a handshake. He supposed that he should be thankful for the gloves as he shook Justin's hand, but no detail had been given as to why it was a good thing. Safe assumption was that it had to do with whatever mutation he had. A handshake was a little bit more formal than most greetings that teens had, but it was a safe choice to make, and kind of hard to mess up.

Ros looked at the piles of books that he had made around him. Standing up surrounded by them he felt a little like a little kid playing Godzilla with building blocks. Although the juvenile desire to knock over books like the mighty atomic lizard had long since left the teen, along with bowling with books, he still smiled and chuckled. "Rawr," he said, inner monologue becoming outer monologue.

He climbed over the closest stack of books carefully. There was too much respect for the written word for him to go toppling the books, even accidentally. Justin asked him if he would mind helping to get the books straightened out. Not a problem of course. Hadn't he been working on that before the other ten came over? To show that he was cool with it Ros shrugged his shoulders and crouched back down. This really wasn't all that different from a shift at his dad's store. "Yeah no problemo. I do this all the time. And really, there's nothing better to do."

Be it the simple fact that they were in a library, or maybe just that there was work to be done, but Ros was fine with being quiet while Justin was humming some song. They both had a task to tackle, and there was enough overlaps in subjects sometimes that Ros had problems with figuring out where what book should go. He was aware of the break from the humming though, and turned expectantly just in time for Justin to ask what he did.

"I can make trouble," Ros said in response to what he was pretty sure was the most common question asked here. Everyone wanted to know what it was you did. Problem was that Ros was still figuring out the details of it himself. "Gloves won't help me out."
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