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Post by Eamon Flynn on Jun 30, 2015 2:51:34 GMT -5
Coward. That was what his snivelling manager was, skipping town the minute that things started to happen. Eamon would have understood if the man had family at the school that he had run with, or even if he had been at all involved in the goings on. But he wasn't, he was a manager for a bookstore that as far as he knew was completely uninvolved with any of the drama that had gone on at the school. Eamon had to soothe himself, thinking about it would only make him angry again. He wasn't sure if he was lucky to still have the job as the librarian or not, or even if he should be glad to still be breathing. He put the horror from his mind, and settled back into his routine, checking the shelves for holes, or damaged items, his fingers running across the books automatically.
He didn't know how well he would be able to manage the school's library and his store without a manager, and neither of the general-purpose workers were close to manager material. Eamon couldn't exactly just hire someone that he didn't trust, either, so the list of possible candidates had been reduced to effectively zilch. Perhaps he would have to reduce the opening hours of the shop, and delegate more duties to his student assistants in the library. Not that he particularly wished more stress on any of them, in light of recent events. Eamon clenched his fist in frustration, why did everything come back to Enzo Antonucchi? Why could he not escape that murderer, even in the safety of his pride and joy. He returned the last of the books to its shelf, and started to make himself a pot of tea by the checkout. That would surely calm him down.
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Post by Eoin O'Brien on Jun 30, 2015 23:20:35 GMT -5
Eoin was... ruffled. He'd been fortunate to have been out of town when things erupted here, but hurried back as soon as he'd gotten word. And of course, one of his first check ups would be the library, it was the first thing he thought of, albeit he didn't admit that to anyone, when he'd heard of the destruction. His sanctuary. He scanned the rows of damaged shelves for Eamon and let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding when he spotted him, putting books away, looking even more miffed than Eoin felt.
He approached the man, as Eamon began to make himself tea, and picked up a cup for himself as he moved to the 'employees only' side of the counter in a second natured way. "Glad to see you persevering through this."
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Post by Eamon Flynn on Jul 6, 2015 21:59:55 GMT -5
"It was a narrow thing." Eamon's voice had more than a bit of an edge to it, but it was clear that he bore no ill will towards Eoin. "I might have had a showdown with the headmaster and a couple of the teachers. Unlike the former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, I wasn't murdered in front of a hall full of children." He wasn't entirely sure how much his relative would have heard about the catastrophe at the school, so it was best to get it all out in the open. They were at least both on the same page, now. "How did we end up here, Eoin? The world was at was four years ago, and it's taken us only this long to be at it again."
And he would be right in the thick of it, if previous history was any inclination. It was nice to know that his eventual, and seemingly inevitable death would conclude his involvement in this petty feud, and that few people would be hard done by with his passing. Eamon sat down, and let out a low breath. "At least you're one of the few running towards the fire, rather than away. It's been a hard few days, cousin."
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Post by Eoin O'Brien on Jul 8, 2015 22:59:44 GMT -5
Eoin smirked in earnest as Eamon spoke, thinking of journals he'd collected postwar from fallen soldiers; thought of entries written in such beautiful detail, in a tone of near romanticism for the follows which surrounded the upturned earth men now called their barracks, and of the stark contrast with their frank manner of describing death as factual, with little to no empathy. He carried this tone through to his speech as he replied to Eamon, keeping his eyes off the other man as he spoke and resting them either into his cup, or against the back wall. "'It's a cruel and random world, but the chaos is all so beautiful', or something isn't it, Eamon?" he turned his head to the other man and studied him, in some ways he looked tired, defeated. "Not that I agree, whoever that author was was a bit blind to reality. Shell-shocked."
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Post by Eamon Flynn on Jul 9, 2015 21:57:00 GMT -5
"I am a librarian and a bookseller, Eoin. Do I really seem like the kind of man who prefers the chaos of the world to my own imposed order?" The author had been a fool, but he had vast stores of sympathy for shell-shocked fools. If they needed to glorify the war to come to terms with the loss of their friends, and their own sanity, he would leave them to it. As long as they didn't pass that foolishness on to their children. "It is difficult to begrudge some of them their delusions though. Especially when those delusions are much easier to accept than the harshness of our reality." Eamon took a long swig of his drink, relishing the taste as it slid down his throat. Everyone needed a vice, and alcohol was by far the easiest one in these parts. Prohibition made it easier for everyone to get alcohol than even cigarettes.
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