never been so good at shaking hands, tags for vivienne!

[Elijah Delacroix]

When most customers stopped by Elijah Delacroix’s store, they were greeted with almost complete silence, save for the gentle rustle of pages from other customers who were browsing and usually a quick greeting from the man behind the counter. It wasn't the stuffy kind of silence one might encounter in a library, for example (though he rather enjoyed the atmospheres of libraries himself), but more of a pleasant silence, like a comfortable lull in conversation between two friends. However, this late in the evening, most of the after-work customers had long since gone home, and the dinner rush at the pizza parlor next door was just winding down. The street was quieter than normal, and while Elijah did enjoy a certain type of silence, it just made him uneasy at night when he was alone. That problem might have been remedied if he'd ever bothered hiring another employee or two, but even though he had considered it a few times, he preferred getting things done himself. His mother had kept her staff small back when she ran the place, enlisting help from one other person besides her son only after she had gotten sick. And judging by the lack of noticeable updates to the place since she passed, Elijah didn't like to change much.

At the moment, he sat cross-legged on the floor between two book cases with a sea of paperbacks spread out in front of him on the carpet. He mindlessly pressed “30% off” stickers on the covers of the books, his attention focused straight ahead at the miniature television set perched on the register counter. He needed some kind of noise to fill the room that wasn’t his own humming, so he’d previously spent about ten minutes flipping through the channels for something suitable—apparently someone had a wry sense of humor and thought it was a good idea to have an American Werewolf in London and American Werewolf in Paris double feature tonight. He figured it was hardly the program to calm his nerves, and thus he ended up on the evening news. Where most of the coverage revolved around werewolf issues, of course.

Apparently there was some protest or another that morning with the United Rights League, though that had grown to be pretty commonplace in recent times. Hardly anything worthy of a headlining story anymore. A young woman flashed across the screen for a quick interview and Elijah recognized her as the one who had asked if she could put out pamphlets in his store. Lately he’d noticed that several of his usual weekly or even more frequent customers were coming in less and less, some of them not even at all in a while. He’d received more than one pointed glare since setting them out, and he had pretty well decided he wouldn’t request a new supply once he ran out. The girl had only returned once since then, about three days afterwards, and offered to put a “Friend of the URL” sticker in his window. He kindly declined and threw together some jumbled story about difficulties for the window wiper.

“There’s always putting out a different set of fliers,” he mumbled to himself. Elijah had always been a fan of thinking aloud. “A different organization, maybe she wouldn’t’ notice…AIDs, no one’s been paying a lick of attention to that problem since this crisis hit…Hell, I wonder if Bono will jump all over this and start a lycanthropy relief campaign now…” Mid-ramble, a chime rang through the store as the front door opened slowly. Elijah flinched considerably, but he quickly reminded himself he hadn’t flipped the “Closed” sign over on the door. Didn’t matter, really, wasn’t like he had any place to be. He couldn’t see who had entered from his spot, so he shifted and started to stand up. “Hello,” he called, somewhat cautiously, craning his neck around the shelf to see, as he wasn’t yet up to his full height. He saw a woman, and it took him several seconds to piece together that she was a familiar face he’d seen in the store several times over. “Oh, Miss…Vigneron, yes? Doing all right this evening?” Relief washed over his face as his mouth twitched up into a polite smile.

[Vivienne Vigneron]

Walking down a fairly empty street alone at night might have been a source of anxiety for some women, but for Vivienne it was the perfect way to clear her head, especially after a long day like the one she’d just had. Protest in the morning, soldiers take warning – there was always plenty of excitement to go around when the URL folks climbed up onto the soapbox. Of course, Vivienne could hardly fault them for it – loups-garoux faced plenty of scorn and fear, and naturally she felt that her kind deserved to be treated fairly, with respect.

She still needed a walk after that headache, though. Without people around, she didn’t have to worry so much about keeping her instincts in check and her reactions controlled. There was just her, just the simple rhythm of walking. Peaceful. Not to mention if anyone made the poor decision of sneaking up on her, she was reasonably certain she could take the average mugger. Call it an educated guess.

This particular walk had a further purpose, however. Reading was simply yet another hobby which kept her life smooth and tranquil (relatively speaking of course) – but it was a hobby which required periodic maintenance, in the form of new literary material. There were places closer to work where she could have shopped, and even places closer to her apartment, but once she formed a pattern she tended to stick to it, and this particular bookshop was one such pattern. She’d stumbled upon in one day, out on a walk as usual. It was hard to put her finger on exactly why she’d come back, but she was always glad when she did. The man who ran it knew his trade well, and after more than one recommendation of his had been an enjoyable literary diversion she’d become rather solidly devoted as a customer.

Tonight, as she entered the store and breathed in deeply, as much for the pleasant scent of crisp pages as to get a full sense of her surroundings, she caught a brief spike of what she’d come to identify as anxiety in the air, prompted by the chiming alert to her arrival she guessed. Regardless of the cause, her senses kicked into gear immediately, assessing the situation in that instant… and coming to the conclusion that there was no danger right about the time a familiar face peeked out from behind a bookshelf.

Vivi smiled, in a manner she rather hoped was reassuring, though she was admittedly a little amused that she’d startled the bookseller. The store was quiet, save for the semi-lyrical droning of a newscaster interviewing some woman, about this morning’s events it sounded like. Half deserted as the street seemed to be at this time of night, she couldn’t really blame him for being surprised. He didn’t seem at all like the type who laughed in the face of danger, or indeed even met danger’s eyes in a challenging fashion – a trait that she actually found rather endearing after spending the bulk of her time with rather more testosterone-driven macho types.

“Yes, M. Delacroix, I am doing quite well,” she returned his smile easily, not even realizing really how appreciative she was of the relief on his face. Spend enough time staring at fear, anger, and disgust… you start to see it peeking through the cracks in the mirror. It was far too easy to forget moments like these, moments where she was treated like… well… like a human being, loaded as that phrase sounded in her head. Like something other than a loaded gun or a coiled spring – like something other than a monster, or a traitor.

“I’m afraid I’ve managed to run out of reading material once again.” Letting the door slip closed behind her, Vivi moved over toward the counter, scanning for anything new that might have come in. She had been busy lately, and not in for a while – which was why she took notice of the United Rights League fliers sitting in a curious mix of boldness and humility for all to see. Raising an eyebrow curiously, she nodded at them and then turned her attention to the man before her. “I didn’t think you were much for political leanings.” Not that she knew him well, of course, but he hadn't ever been very vocal on the subject around her.