Samuel
Newton's Cradle was a wild place in general, but especially compared to what Maxwell was used to. Maxwell came from a sleepy suburb, in large part sheltered by his parents. He went to church every Sunday, he stayed in school, he practiced his instrument. He was used to life being quiet, so Newton's Cradle was quite overwhelming for him, even though he did like it.

He'd found some spots to calm down — a few personal haunts where people from the Cradle didn't care to come — and one of them was the municipal library. No one really came there except him, because Newton's Cradle had its own library, relatively well-stocked. That meant he could go to the municipal library when he wanted to read in peace, and that's precisely what he did.

Maxwell sat in the council-hall-slash-library-reading-room, reading a book. "The Martian Chronicles". It was, according to the cover, something of a sci-fi classic, though the library only owned one copy and he'd never heard of it before. Whatever the case, he only had one chapter to go, and he had actually enjoyed it. He hummed a few bars of a tune as he read, but quickly stopped himself once he realized — after all, it was a library, and he wouldn't want to disturb all the people in the entirely empty hall.
William
◇ Outside, a storm was brewing, and its name was discontent.

□ Akvilė had been tirelessly attempting to round out her Dune collection over the previous weeks, and to her dismay it was proving to be a difficult task to do on foot. Isakstad had many bookstores, both Mom and Pop and corporate chain, but it seemed the shops only stocked one of the Herberts' writings. It had almost become a game to her, mentally tallying out how many times she'd walked into a bookstore, and she was on her way from another bookstore while smoking a cigarette and stewing at a rip-boil when the actual storm touched down. Raindrops the size of nickels slammed into her freshly washed and just-dried hair, and she ducked into the municipal library with an annoyed groan while patting her hair.

□ The library itself was always a contentious spot to her. On one hand, it was a fount of information often greater than the Cradle's. On the other? It was large, with ceilings so high it seemed a good place to die with honour, and it had so many seats and so many people that she couldn't help *But* Stick to the shadows, out of sight except to those in the sci-fi section. Beelining there out of habit she tried her best to not run, not make too much noise, anything to be a ghost checking out books and leaving the stale waft of cigarette smoke and crushed cloves in her wake. Turning the corner she let out a sigh, blessedly deep and liberating, and began to peruse the shelves. She'd read most of the books, or at least most of the classics, so her eyes glanced over many of the spines visible. She saw no Frank Herbert, and frowned; *A waste.* She stepped towards the end of the aisle and poked her head out, checking for cars or trains or whatever was racing by.

▪︎ Except nothing raced by. Nothing raced by, and only one person sat in the entire library, save for the librarians working away at their computers behind the desk. She let out a sigh of relief and stepped out from the aisle, borderline a phantom appearing out of thin air.

□ Initially her sights were fixed on the desk, but in a very human glance of curiosity she noticed the cover of the book the boy was reading. It was a Ray Bradbury novel, and it was one she hadn't seen in some time. Had she missed it, somehow? Turning on her heels she darted back down the aisle, the heavy soles of her hiking boots clomping against the ground. She looked the shelf with Bradbury's work on it over, and she looked it over again, until she was certain that the only copy this library had was in that boy's hands. She spent a few more moments looking the shelves over again, then stepped out and awkwardly approached the lad, two books under her arm and a bead of sweat already glistening on her forehead.

◆ "Uhm... A-are you almost done with... With it?" She gestured to the book from where she stood about ten feet away.
Samuel
Maxwell looked up from the book, then back down. He flipped through the pages, keeping his thumb along the gutter as a temporary bookmark, then looked back up.

"I have, like, four pages left, if you wanna wait." He pointed at the page. "Why, have you been looking for this?"

Something about her seemed vaguely familiar. She looked about the right age to be at Newton's Cradle, and something about her suggested to Maxwell that she probably was, but he didn't remember having met her before. He wasn't exactly brimming with energy, but he decided to regard it as an opportunity to get to know someone new anyway.

"You know you don't have to just stand there, right? You can sit down. I promise I'm not contagious."
William
◆ "Not... Precisely? I-I was looking for Herbert. Frank. No dice. I, uh... Had a copy once." She gestured to the book with a hesitant motion. "Of that- of that novel. Good book. I-I kinda wanna re-read it."

□ Timid in tone, her voice barely raised above a whisper as she stood awkwardly about ten feet away. The lad wasn't contagious, as stated by himself, but he was still a stranger. Akvilė *Struggled* With strangers far more often than now, and even with a familiar book by a beloved author in his hands and his blessing to sit she couldn't help but worry she was intruding. It was a library, after all, and politeness mixed with social anxiety was nearly enough to mute the fact that she was welcome.

▪︎ It wasn't, though. She nervously approached, pulled a seat about a foot back, and sat down with a single motion and the flattening of her ankle-length skirt.

■ Initially, though, as she sat down she said nothing. Her attention seemed to be more on glossing through the first pages of a book she'd pulled off the shelves, her face knitting itself into an uncertain yet focused look as she did so. This went on for a couple of minutes, the pair silently going about reading their books, but under the blanket of silence pressure was building up on her shoulders to say something – *Anything* – to break through. Breaking through, though, turned out to be a rather difficult process, and all she could really do was look at the book, then the boy, then the librarian, and then the book again, until...

◆ "It-it's interesting how that novel came, uhm... Together." She started out of nowhere. "Bradbury already wrote it. He-he simply was incensed to... T-to collect and, like, refine some previous stories into one narrative. I like his method."
Samuel
"Really?" Maxwell's eyebrows rose. "I thought some of it seemed familiar. I've probably read some of the stories somewhere else, then." He figured he should have probably realized sooner — *The Martian Chronicles* Wasn't exactly shy about being a short story collection.

He fiddled with the last page for a moment, then quietly placed it between the two of them. He was going to tell her, but decided to take a moment to peek over her shoulder at what she was reading — and maybe a little bit at her, too. He'd noticed something when they first met that he couldn't quite place, and he was curious. 

His curiosity was very quickly sated when he noticed all the little holes scattered across her body. Definitely Newton's Cradle, then. 

"I'm done with it now," He said, clearing his throat and tapping the cover of the book, "You can have it."
William
◆ "Yeah? I-I mean. Yeah." *Self-awareness was a curse,* She'd decided, as she doubled over her words and likely muddied what she was saying in her uncertain shifting in place. "Like, if you, uhm... Read There Will Come Soft Rains, you'll recognize it as a-a part of the Chronicles. The Martian too. Both are, uhm... Good stories on their- on their own."

□ The words jabbed into each other and spilled guts, yet Akvilė kept on talking. She didn't know the first thing about the fellow she was chatting with, save for his apparent taste in science fiction, and just that alone was enough to coax an inkling of conversation out of her. She could, however, tell that the lad was trying to figure *Her* Out, for lack of better words, and it was that curious look that irked her slightly.

▪︎ She generally didn't like being perceived, yet here she was, perceived and observed, like bacteria in a petri dish in some bored scientist's lab. She felt the clutches of social anxiety tightening around her throat.

◆ "Oh." Akvilė replied, pulled out of her thoughts by the thoughtful rapping of knuckles against hardcover. She leaned forward slightly, and held out her hand nervously yet expectantly. "I-i'll take it off your, uhm... Hands, then?"
Samuel
Cw// ||wound||

||"Mm." Maxwell nodded. "I liked those. The second one — There Will Come Soft Rains — kinda hurt. Poor dog."

Maxwell didn't really like reading that story. It was uncomfortable. But it was written well enough to *Be* Uncomfortable. He just resolved to stop thinking about it.

He glanced quietly at Akvilė. She seemed anxious, but she'd been pleasant enough to talk to. He figured he may as well introduce himself once he'd passed the book along. He picked it up to hand to Akvilė.

"Yeah, go ah—"

Suddenly, Maxwell went quiet. His face contorted into a horrible, pained expression, and he dropped the book. His breathing became slow and labored.

"Go ahead. You can have it." His voice was slightly strained, but he did his best to pretend nothing was wrong. "I, uh. I'm Max. Nice to meet you."

He offered his hand to shake. He failed to notice the open sore in his palm, or the black tar oozing from it.||
William
◆ "Y-yeah." Akvilė nodded. She knew the part. "It killed me to... To read that– that part. Bradbury knows how to– t-to make a person hurt."

□ Speaking with familiarity and just a hint of recalled pain, Akvilė watched as the other lad extended his hand out with the book in it. She was about to reach out and grab it when he suddenly froze and contorted into a shell of pure pain. A metaphorical iron maiden slapped tight around his chest and jabbed a spike into his palm for good measure. Her stomach and her mind, thankfully, were equally steady when it came to the more horrific elements of life, so she processed it and then grabbed the book gingerly, wiping it off with a tissue from the messenger bag hanging over her shoulder.

◆ "Th-thanks." She spoke as she wiped the rest of the tar off the cover and added it to her pile. "But, uhm... Max? Y-your hand. It's bleeding. It looks... N-normal, though. You aren't scared. Just, uhm... How it- how it is?"

▪︎ She didn't grab Max's hand for a shake. Who could blame her? It was coated in tar, and she'd *Just* Put hand lotion on not long before stepping out of the rain and into the library.
Samuel
Maxwell forced a sheepish little grin through the pain. "Yeah. Just how it is." He pushed himself up with his left hand, still in pain but able to move, and cast a glance at his right. The black spot in his palm reminded him of stigmata, or of the pirate legend. "I didn't even notice the bleeding," He muttered, "I... I'm sorry. I should go."

Before Akvilė could respond, he was on his way, urgently walking off to — hopefully — be treated. He didn't even know what to expect himself.