A Light Read (Open)

[Felix Sbarge]

The books reminded him of his mother, always reading something, always carrying a tome or two in he hands, even in her pockets. She was never without a book. Usually though, it was the tiny pocket bible slid in her back jean pocket, Christian that she was. Sometimes, he wondered if he'd ever get to that point, carrying a Bible in his pocket. He didn't know if it bothered him or not.

Felix sat in a lounge chair, a huge leather mound that wheezed and coughed every time he moved his legs. Thankfully it was comfortable enough for him to require little stretching. But what would happen when he finished the chapter, he wondered? He didn't want to make such an obscene noise in a library, yet he didn't want to overrun his brain with Anatomy reading. If it had been poetry, perhaps he could have managed it. Nevertheless, it was the library's fault for using such a loud seating arrangement. Or maybe it was his for sitting in it.

The junior grimaced, his previous thoughts having blanked his mind of the last paragraphs, something about ventricular Tachycardia and IEDs, or ICDs, or something. He reread the last few paragraphs and steeled himself to stand, wincing only faintly at the squeaking leather. He vowed to never sit in a leather library chair again.

Picking up the study book, Felix wandered back to the shelf he'd commandeered it from, and debated whether or not to replace it. After recalling he already had a different version back at the dorm, he put it away, never having been good at returning library books anyway. He slide it home with his left hand, flexing the fingers on that hand afterward, staring down at them. Not even a twinge. Weird, but he wouldn't question it. If God deemed he get over the accident, so be it, if not, so be it.

He perused the shelves, glancing at titles that were so familiar and so unfamiliar, really just on a mission to find his way out. If he concentrated, he'd remember perfectly, but at the moment, he had no where to go. Rustling pages from around a corner unconsciously commanded his legs to follow the sound. As he rounded the History section shelves, Felix caught sight of a girl, somewhat familiar in that he'd seen her around, but didn't know her name or grade. Not that it mattered. He wasn't into females much these days. But she so reminded him of his mother, the same blond hair and engrossed look with her nose deep in a book, mindless of reality.

He paused, standing a few feet from her chair, taking the picture in, of her, the chair, the background shelves, the book, the Latin, that she read Latin apparently fluently. Impressive. The almost casual thought of Shifting and crawling up to her can to mind subconsciously, but the moment it showed itself, he punished it and sent it back to hiding. No, nothing so mundane as starting conversation with a girl would garner his Shifting. Not much would. Especially considering he was having a good day with his old injuries already and Shifting always inflamed them. So it would be the traditional way.

"Hello there, love stories quite your fancy, then?" His Irish accent was soft, in the same light of Jonathan Rhys Meyers, one could say.

[Felix Sbarge]

It was always embarrassing, stealing a person's attention from something else. Anything else. It made one feel like they were imposing, like they were unwanted, too small to listen too, too big to ignore, had horrible timing, boorish manners, a big ego, too much pride, too little care, and yet, sometimes, it was the best thing about human nature. Having the focus of another all on yourself. Having gained, in someway, either through respect or annoyance, the full visage of another, that they were drinking in your actions and absorbing your words for that brief moment, and it declared that you were the center of the world, on top of it, big enough to fill that self-esteem meter for once. But it still made you feel like crap at the same instant, like you stole precious moments, like you were the one who yelled "Look out!" at the running man and he stopped to look where you pointed, only to be hit by the bus that would have missed him if he hadn't listened to you. It was what both made and broke the world, the direction of attention. And right then, it make Felix feel like crap.

He gestured to the cover of the book she held, the simple word "Amare" facing him. "My Latin's rusty. I read like a kindergartner." It was embarrassing to admit, but true and he couldn't lie, especially over something so trivial in real life. He'd taken barely a trimester of Latin at his old high school. The teacher hadn't been entertaining and he hadn't been one of the better students, just squeaking by with B's and C's. And then the teacher was fired. Oh the conspiracy surrounding that pink slip... Some said it was for failure to comply with school curriculum (which would explain his hatred of the class). Others went so far as to mention a scandal, ranging from drugs to money to sex. But Felix believed with the larger crowd; their Latin teacher was deported.

He leaned back, hands slipped into his back pockets, ring clicking against a stray guitar pic, weight all in the heels of his white trimmed black Converse. They were his favorite shoes, the only ones he had at the moment. Jeez, if he was thinking about practicing tennis today, he'd need better shoes; one did not play sports in Converse, not unless they wanted their feet to hurt from zero arch support. Maybe he could borrow some from someone at the dorm. Like Caleb, or Daniel. Scratch that, Daniel was the wrong shoe size for sure. Maybe Zero had good tennis-shoes. Or Mel?

Felix shrugged that problem off for later and turned his dark navy eyes back to the girl. Her curiosity was misplaced, in his eyes. True, it wasn't everyday you met strangers who could read Latin (well, understand words, not read), but as he'd expressed, he technically couldn't read. Not many kindergartners could read. Haha, at least he thought his joke was funny. Maybe she wouldn't notice it. He hoped not. Her pretty blue eyes seemed to tell him that she wasn't the fall over laughing type. Well, neither was he.

Clothes

[Felix Sbarge]

He was glad she found it amusing, even if he had been serious, but so long as she didn't expect him to read for her and expect to be understood, she could give him whatever skill level she wished. Felix just didn't want to insult any Latin speaking kindergartners, then or now. And then, as she continued, he was very tempted to take up her invitation of Latin being a "made-up" language. But it didn't seem appropriate, nor could he see any reason to begin something so pointless except in making himself look even more the smart-alec rich kid, as was already apparent by his clothing, he was afraid.

"Name's Felix Sbarge," he replied, shaking her proffered hand, his accent sounding cute with the added smile and yet he couldn't help but shake his head inwardly at himself for it. Hadn't it been Zander, telling him Irish accent's were painfully adorable? Okay, admittedly he'd said sexy, but...that was too far. The fashion major never had understood he had an accent. He was born in America, for crying out loud, but with both parents and close family speaking Irish marked English, it was hard not to have picked it up. But he liked it; it made him more memorable, and cute, if Zander was to be believed.

Felix nodded at her clothing, which was a vain thing to do, seeing as it could be taken he was nodding to her, or the book, or the chair for all the goof general direction did. But words were definitely better at clarifying. "I see you're from a warmer climate even than here. And I thought Arizona was hot..." He shrugged, throwing his hands palm up to add dramatics to the brief pose. Admittedly, he'd spent more of his days indoors; the older he got, the less outdoorsy he became, committed to activities like guitar and dance and fashion designing. But he did miss the sun every now and then, since the pool had been outside, and he played tennis. Sort of.

He wondered if there was a tennis team at this school, and how one could sign up. But that was useless to ask, as she didn't look like the all out sports type. A music major of some sort, if ever he saw one. It was the hair and make-up... But what was a good shift if one was in music? The obvious choice was a bird, maybe a wolf? But she was too bookish for a bird and too innocent for a wolf. and too beautiful. For once, he was stumped. And something told him to ask rather that drag out the logic puzzle. "So what does an beautiful musician such as yourself shift into?" It was a little forward, but when, if she took it wrong, as she rightly could, he could always explain he was bisexual. Well, more gay, but still... Maybe he shouldn't, on second thought.

[Felix Sbarge]

"I know, the last name, isn't it? I get that a lot." Which was both true and untrue, hard to tell which. He didn't often get asked outright about his name, but he got enough looks, such as now, to know when someone had decided to mentally call him out on it. Admittedly, "Sbarge" was a different name, but he could say that about many names.Even S"Smith had to have sounded strange at some point, before it became so popular and numerous. Honestly, who wanted to join the profession of being a smithy? Felix would rather go for baking, if he could bake. Or perhaps fishing, since being a fisherman with lots of fish sounded fun. But what would a Sbarge have done, to be labeled "Sbarge", as a baker was labeled "Baker"? He didn't know..

But there were soon more unasked questions that she wanted to know the answer to, but didn't think it polite to ask. She didn't need to be so shy and civil, they were equals, he didn't care. "And yes, I'm American born to two Irish Americans. Irish citizen now too, but not native. It's okay to ask, you know." The last he directed with his smiling eyes toward her own, a sort of quirked smile about his face, almost on the verge of rolling his eyes, but then not. "I'm getting accustomed to this place. The best way for me is to just switch clothing all at once. Besides, it's not too bad, just a little...damper. Ugh." He shivered in imagined disgust.

Felix finally noticed the guitar by her chair and nearly gaped it fascination and captivation, but this conversation was about people, and he would try to keep it that way. "I'm hurt, honestly. You didn't answer to real question." That was, the real questions of her being beautiful and about herself in general. But he was entertained well enough. "I've heard of them, but never sen them. Are they cute?" He was flirting again, but this time, he was also curious. A little. Okay, he'd seen an ocelot before, but he wanted to see how cute hers was. Of course, he was now afraid that since he had asked indirectly to see hers, she'd want to see his. And telling her no was impolite.

[Felix Sbarge]

It was hard to get over her blond hair, how...bouncy, no-bubbly! Yes, that was it, that was the word: bubbly!. Somehow, in a way he couldn't quite stock under the microscope, that was the adjective that fir her hair best. The way the layers settled loosely, as if ready to bouncy, but were more free than that. More self-inclined. Lighthearted. And so they were bubbly. And the sparkle in her blue eyes, even when he embarrassed her, only added to the effect he deemed "Jessian." He decided he might have to design something inspired by her hair. Something...bubbly. He had never tried "bubbly" before...

The idea of listening to someone else play guitar, rather than himself over and over again, was aesthetically pleasing to his mind. It would be good to have a comparison, see how rusty his skills were when set up against another. And there was no denying his skills were rusty, not with his hand the way it had been for the past eight years or so. He hadn't seriously placed since then. Which made him wish he had. Maybe he could get himself into a band...

"I'd love to hear," he replied brightly, shoving off her remarks about not wanting to shift for him. He hadn't really wanted her too. Well, he had['i] butt baring the fact that she didn't want to, he saw no reason to press. He loved kittens and house cats, but even ocelots were to far from that mark. He tucked his fingers in his pockets, leaned his shoulder on a nearby book case, though he knew the moment she started strumming he'd be crashed on the floor, cross-legged, like a five year old during story time. He was spontaneous like that. "Show me what you got under those fanciful chords." Felix grinned, flexing his own fingers as if he was getting ready to play, wincing at the twinge the action sent up his wrist and to his elbow.

He knew he should exercise the hand more, but it was so far out of his nature to stay fit with his whole body, not to mention focus half his life on using the muscles in one hand. Even though he knew, in hindsight, that he should have been using it more, just like his therapist had told him. He wished for the limited, but larger mobility range he could have had at this moment.

But he wasn't here to dwell on hindsight, no matter that it was always right. Felix brushed at a non-existent long sleeve, wondering what had possessed him to wear something with such short sleeves. It provided so little covering, making him feel a little uncomfortable, suddenly conscious of the wrap-around scars on his shoulder to his elbow that were obviously caused by claws. His lips tightened a moment at the realization and he tucked his arm behind himself childishly. "I'm, uhh, an American mink," he had to force himself not to mumble.