Inbox

[skeletonkeay]

INBOX OF GERARD KEAY

Point of contact for Pumpkin Hollow. Gerry can be reached by phone, mail, or a visit to his shop during business hours. Pinhole Printing and Binding is open from 11am to 6pm every day except Tuesday, because fuck Tuesday, or unless Gerry deigns otherwise.

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Comments

[graveling]

"So I saw an image online back home of business cards that a really, really tall guy got printed, that stated his height, the fact he didn't play basketball and the fact that the weather was fine up there."

Angel flashes one of his usual terribly brief and stiff smiles.

"I need that, but for 'So you've noticed the guy you're staring at is a corpse.'"

[maskedstarbunny]

Ryja sets the paper at the desk and quickly scratches out some lines, segmenting it so she can show the component parts of the diagrams she needs. She's no artist with a pen, but an Arcanist becomes very good at lines, circles, and measurements. After a little bit, she shows him her work. The diagrams themselves are almost like a mix of arcane sigils and circuitry. "I need to fit all of these in a particular number of pages, based on the size of each page. I leave it to you if a thicker tome is preferable to larger pages?" She never actually bound her own, of course. Learned the basics of the process, because every Scholar should know that much.

[skeletonkeay]

Gerry barks a laugh at this, as surprised as he is amused. "Oh, brilliant." He grabs a pen and some scrap paper. "What else are we putting on it?"

[graveling]

"My name is Angel. I work at Kasprak Farm and the Temple of Sacred Roots. No, I am not a zombie. No, I'm not contagious. No, I don't remember being alive. Further respectful questions are welcome."

Beat. "Anything else you think people ought to know about me from the jump?"

[skeletonkeay]

He ponders this a moment. "You gonna be carrying it around a lot?"

[skeletonkeay]

Gerry chuckles, delighted by this whole thing. "No, I think that about covers the basics. I'll be sure to hang on to a sample in case you need more. How many you wanna start with?"

[graveling]

"A good few. It happens a lot, Gerry." There would absolutely be a huffy little sigh here if Angel did breathing. "And like, politely pretending not to stare is weirder to me than people who just ask questions."

[maskedstarbunny]

"At all times, preferably. Not having access to magic has already caused some significant problems." The mark of Flesh certainly might imply that much.

Sometime in early June

[misbegottendreamer]

Gerry doesn’t need to open his front door to know who’s knocking- the soft sound of jingling bells is a dead giveaway. And sure enough, there she is, standing in a slightly apologetic way that makes her seem for all the world like a gentle old lady.

september.

[decrypter]

Okay. She can do this. The printing and binding shop - she's practiced this in her head, and she thinks she has this down. The worst that can be said is no, but it's a concept that came to her - something that she can do, and it's as though her sister is squeezing her shoulder, saying you can do this, little bird.

So, during business hours, a young woman comes in, the bell jingling along with the tap-tap of her cane. Pausing as she comes in, she breathes in the scents - paper, ink, and the rest - and that tells her she's in the right spot now. Yes. She listens for footsteps first, and smiles when she hears them.

"Good afternoon. I'm looking for Gerry Keay."

[misbegottendreamer]

Towards the beginning of August, she decides to check in on Gerry again. She's got a loaf of fresh-baked potato bread with her, in a basket hanging from her arm.

In a dream...

[blindwatchersees]

Endless shelves stretch up to a crystalline ceiling, behind which hangs the backdrop of a grey sky. Grey robed figures pass by Gerry without looking at him, and from time to time, they will dissolve into a flurry of paper and text, taking their place between their fellow books. Their movements are deliberate, their eyes are pale and certain. Everything feels strangely sharp and precise, even the echoes reverberating off of the smooth stone floor.

[skeletonkeay]

The little bell on Gerry's door rings, and he looks up from what he's sewing.

"Oh, hey, Drelasa. Whatcha got there? Smells good."

[misbegottendreamer]

“A little something for both the stomach and the soul. It’s potato bread, one of my old comforts.”

She sets the basket down, lifting the cloth from the bread, and a faintly sweet, starchy smell fills the air.

[skeletonkeay]

"Ooh." Gerry sets aside what he's working on. Bread is more important. "I'll never say no to a few carbs."

He pulls a pair of chairs around the counter, setting one behind Drelasa.

"So, how ya been? Hanging in there?"

[misbegottendreamer]

“I would say I’ve been doing better than that, flah. I’ve my own share of the forging business now, and I’m able to use more of the crafting methods of my homeland. And… I’ve met many good people.”

Pause.

“Thank you, for trusting in me enough to ask a personal favor. It has… led to many unexpected things, but not unwelcome things.”

[skeletonkeay]

Gerry's face flickers a strange expression at the word he doesn't know. Is that--- some kind of term of endearment?

She does kind of have family vibes... In a strangely positive way.

"I'm, ah, glad to hear it," he says softly. "How's he doing?"

[skeletonkeay]

Gerry looks up from his work. He's got a curved sewing needle in his mouth and a pair of scissors in hand. He cuts the thread and sets everything aside.

"Oh, hey. Yeah, that's me. Can I help you?"

[misbegottendreamer]

“He knew it was your idea almost immediately. The best way I can describe him is that his heart is bursting with love for you and his mind is on others who might have been affected by being… hollowed.”

[decrypter]

Though her face is bright, her eyes don't meet Gerry's, less focused and the shine in them somewhat clouded.

"Actually, I believe I may be of help to you. I've heard that you intend to move into printing braille, and I was wondering if you or anyone in your shop is fluent in it." Stay calm, this is the important part. "Because if not, I am, and I could make the process much, much quicker and easier."

[skeletonkeay]

It takes all of two seconds for Gerry to put the pieces together. He nods, mostly to himself.

"Yeah, no, we don't. I'm functional in braille, but not fluent. Getting a second press installed next week, but for now we just switch out the plates on this one for braille printing. If I let you feel how I do it, do you think you could pick it up?"

[decrypter]

"I think," she begins, but there's a little firmness that comes over her expression. No. She can be more definite than that. "Yes. I could do that easily. And I'm willing to demonstrate here and now."

[skeletonkeay]

"Alright. " He pats on the part of the counter that lifts up twice before raising it to let her back. "This way."

[skeletonkeay]

Gerry lets out a sheepish laugh at that, shaking his head. That's reassuring, certainly. Cecil's cute...

"Yeah, I... got the impression it hit him hard. In ways he couldn't really explain to me. Or wouldn't." Gerry sighs. "Did he at least talk to you about it?"

[decrypter]

The sound helps direct her, and she follows, cane quietly tapping as her own little beacon. Though she can't see the shop, the echoes tell her much, sketch out an entire world for her, and she feels herself getting a little more excited. She can be brave and definite without crushing pressure overhead. All she has to do is prove she can learn.

"How long have you been making books?"