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| − | {{Infobox Log
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| − | |name = 2020.01.05: Library Visit
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| − | |summary = Looking to improve his occult knowledge, Kristof heads to the library, only to end up meeting some weird hipster millennial kid. Who's twenty eight.
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| − | |icdate = 5th January 2020
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| − | |ictime = Afternoon
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| − | |players = [[Kristof]], [[Joel]]
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| − | |location = Prospect Public Library
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| − | [[Category:Logs]]
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| − | [[Category:Kristof]]
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| − | [[Category:Joel]]
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| − | [[File:Kristof3.jpg|250px|right]]
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| − | [[File:Joelmain.jpg|250px|right]]
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| − | Fifth Third Strip Mall - Prospect Public Library
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| − | Joel has a pile of magazines before him -- recent issues of everything from the expected Wired and Popular Science to the less expected alternative magazines local to Prospect. He's reading one of the latter, telling him all about the hipster locations around the city, his sneakered feet planted on a chair nearby, his long coat draping below the seat and hanging loosely beneath his skinny frame. It's likely one of the reference librarians has already told him not to sit like that, for that same one is glaring daggers at him, obviously just waiting for him to screw up so she can kick him out. He blows a kiss over towards her, going back to reading amidst his sprawl, checking his texts idly from the high-powered Android phone that rests by him on the long table.
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| − | There's a bit of a commotion coming from the entrance to the library as the detectors trigger with the arrival of a new face. Back through he goes again, more noise and red light warnings, until Kristof eventually reaches up inside the back of his jacket and pulls out a rather savage looking survival knife inside a sheath, throwing it down into the collection point. A few shrugs, raised hands, explanations back and fore, a pose of him on what seems to be a motorcycle followed by a point up at the sky; or the ceiling in this case.
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| − | Finally, they let him through without calling the cops, so Kristof makes his way over to the couple of computers that serve as a cataloging system. "I'm too old for this shit." he can be heard grumbling, then looks over at the comfortable looking tech guy, "Hey kid, you know how to use these things?"
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| − | Joel's alert enough to look over at the metal detectors when they beep. He's not close enough to see exactly what is thrown down, but it does seem to take a while to get Kristof ushered through into the library, and then there's that pose. The seated figure raises his brows skeptically at that, attention drawn that-a-way as the older fellow makes his way through to the computers. "What gave it away?" he tosses back at the question asked him. "There's instructions on the side of the screen though, hoss. Should be step by step." He doesn't move to help yet, picking up his phone and swiping through it to check alerts, his gaze drifting away for a second or two. "You know, 'to search our system'..." But, it seems, Kristof will have to figure it out from there!
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| − | Keeping his gaze on Joel for a few moments, Kristof eventually just shakes his head and looks back to the computer in front of him, "Millennials.." he mutters, crouching down a bit so he can see the instructions listed. ".. click inside search box..", he murmurs to himself, looking from the instructions to the screen and back again. ".. done that.", he worked out the mouse at least, ".. type search parameters..". He leans back, stares at the screen, "Whatever happened to filing cards?", he asks nobody in particular as he stares at the keyboard, pressing one key after another, once he finds the right letters at least. Not a tech type, obviously.
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| − | "There we go. Aisle C5.". Looking up, turning around, searching for some sort of idea where C5 might be. "I used to know a kid like you." he says while searching, this time obviously sent in Joel's direction, "Karl, a guy from Utah, nice kid. I mean, I say kid, but I was only ten years his senior. He could handle all those tech gadgets, he'd do some of that cracking.. hacking.. whatever you kids call it. Real smart guy.".
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| − | "Less space for filing cards, more space for books," Joel points out, unable to hide a little wince at the lack of typing prowess. But he tucks his phone away and looks up towards what stacks there are. It's a small space, and C5 is the third shelf down on the furthest righthand side. "I'm not from Utah." Any further information, he keeps to himself, just watching to see what will come. "What was all that crap at the metal detector about? You packing heat?" That same librarian that's been staring down Joel flinches at that, turning her attention to Kristof a little warily now.
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| − | There was Aisle C, Kristof had got that far at least, an arm raised, a subtle pause, a point at the sign, "Gotcha.". Turning toward the questioning Joel, he shakes his head, "Didn't say you were, kid. I'm talkin' about Karl. That's a whole pit of stories right there.". Moving closer, he leans back against the table Joel is sitting in front of, plants his behind on there to half seat himself, arms lightly crossed across his chest. "Just my knife..", he explains, ".. when you spend years on the road, it becomes like another limb, you forget it's there.", turning his arm to display the patches from multiple cities across the US, and that's just one arm. "These kind..", an upnod toward the security, ".. they see a knife like that and think I'm gonna stab someone. It ain't like that, see. It's a tool."
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| − | "Yeah, that's what all the serial killers say," Joel quips. " 'Just a tool'." He puts his cellphone away as Kristof moves to settle, looking at the display of patches with a little bit of interest, the cities noted in passing as he takes stock of the fellow talking to him. "So what brought you to Prospect? Can't be the library system, no offense. I'm told there's a better branch somewhere else in town, but I haven't been there yet. That's what a Kindle's for. And this Karl guy -- bunch of stories, past tense. He die?" His questions are brief, but there's no hesitation in them, nor much real subtlety about asking them.
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| − | "You ain't wrong there kid, I've met my fair share of psychopaths over the years." Kristof replies. "It's still a tool, don't matter what you're doin' with it. It gets the job done, right?", raising his eyebrows as he stares down at the younger man in front of him. "This is my home town.." he admits, looking around briefly at the inside of the library, then out through the windows at the mall outside. "This wasn't even here when I was a kid. I haven't been back here in over twenty years.", looking thoughtful, blue eyes distant.
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| − | "What's that?" he asks, pulled from his reverie, attention back on Joel, "Brutally murdered, is what I'd called it, but yeah, Karl's gone. He was never a fighter, but damn he had smarts. Loved his bikes too." he nods. "What's your story? You even got one? You still in school?"
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| − | Joel lets out a burst of laughter. "Bro, I'm twenty-eight goddamn years old." He smoothes down his jacket, an aggrieved little noise issuing from him at being called a college student. "Who got him? Bikers or something?" He hasn't kicked his feet down off the chair, but now he does, leaning into the conversation a bit. His gaze scans Kristof, assesing him, and he adds, "If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if this was some sorta setup to get me jumped." But there's a briefly warning note in his voice there, just in case Kristof /is/ working to ruin, and his brows raise pointedly. "What's in Aisle C5 anyway?"
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| − | "You tell me, kid, you're the smart arse." Kristof replies. With a stoic exterior, he's a hard one to read, but that one breaks it and the corner of his mouth twists into a hint of a grin. "Twenty eight? You serious?", leaning forward slightly as if to get a better look, "You must moisturise a lot." he says dryly, shaking his head in disbelief. "They looked like bikers, but.. it's a long story, for another time. You can write your dissertation on it, or whatever you kids do.", still calling Joel a kid despite knowing his age. "C5..", he starts, pushing off the table and heading in that direction, ".. has occult, mystic and supernatural texts.", glancing back as he's walking off, "Spooky, right?", looking back toward the aisle, "What would an old biker want with occult books..?"
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| − | Joel flashes teeth back at Kristof. "I don't go out a lot. I know, stereotype, but that's me. A walking, breathing stereotype. Or so I've been told before." He shrugs at Kristof's claim about his research being spooky, shrugging. "I dunno, man. Not my bag, that sort of emo Goth stuff. You wanna stick your dick in a ouija planchette, be my guest, but I don't get off on that." He pulls out his phone, looking through it again, then adds, "What are you, hoss? Fifty, fifty-five? Surprised you still got enough in you to balance your bike." It's light, though, and said with a smartass snap rather than actually meant as mean.
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| − | Leaving Joel behind, Kristof disappears into Aisle C, though he can still be heard muttering about where the '5' of C5 might be. "Gotcha.", he says again, coming back with a book a moment later and walking over to Joel. "That would be the outdoors, the sun adds years if you ain't careful. Which I wasn't." he admits. "Fourty six and still able to beat your arse three ways into Tuesday.". It's not a threat, he's just that convinced he can do it, there's no doubt in his mind. "I best be gettin' out of here, security are looking mighty twitchy over there.". Reaching out, he offers a genuinely friendly handshake; if nothing else, he's a good, friendly guy. "The name's Kristof. Good talkin' to you, kid.". Still with the kid thing.
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| − | "After four, before six!" Joel calls out, supposedly helpful, at the muttering about where the numbered part of the reference might be. He waits, though, to see the books Kristof emerges with, scanning the titles that might be on the spine before he looks up towards their engaging borrower. "Like the guy from 'Inglorious Bastards,' huh? Christoph Dance." He knows that's not the surname, obviously, but waits to see Kristof's reaction. No notion of Kristoffersen here, it would seem! "Good talking with you too. Next time you come in, I'll teach you how to use Google," he deadpans.
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| − | Daemonology by Henry James. "Somethin' like that. Christopher, but Chris ain't doin' it, and Christopher reminds me of my mother, so Kristof it is." he replies. A pat on the shoulder, friendly, firm but friendly, and he's moving off, "What is a Google?" he asks, "Scratch that, tell me next time.". And off he goes, the book scanned out, knife returned, and the man escaping back into the real world with his strange book on Demons.
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