Old Town whatever lets you cope

[Sunjata Bratena]

Sure, it’s quite a bit out of the way for Sunjata, but after getting out finally and exploring the city he found himself in, he can’t help but to notice the old bookstore as he walks past and makes a mental note earlier in the day that he needs to return to it, if only to see what kind of odds and ends this particular bookstore held that something like a public library wouldn’t have.

Completing whatever errands need to be done, Sunjata does find himself back on the sidewalk in front of the bookstore, putting out his cigarette before he decides to say fuck it and step inside. It’s later in the afternoon now, though the sun hasn’t set. It lightens the bookstore with hues of golden rays, giving it an almost charming and homey kind of feel as he slips in, immediately wandering toward the back walls, trying to decide what kind of book he might be seeking out. A thought he decides that he should have had before this point.

Ah well, never hurts to browse, right?

[Samuel Wordsworth]

It had been a quiet day; Sam had been using it to reflect on his recent small victories in interacting with the world around him. So far, it had all gone suspiciously well - he'd been almost certain upon trying to speak to a person he'd find he was a hideous monster to them or that he would disappear entirely, dragged to the Hell he'd somehow managed to avoid...but no. At the most, he'd had an awkward conversation, a moment of fear.

Someone had left a book out on the table in the middle of the store. Not the kind of thing he would usually read, a Sherlock Holmes mystery (he'd always found them a little childish); but now that he could no longer pick up books by himself, he took whatever he could get in terms of written entertainment. While the whole book was a weight impossible to manipulate, each individual page could be pushed to one side with some effort from his mind.

He glanced up just in time from his most recent page-turn to see a man outside with a cigarette in his lips. While the methods had changed, the habit of smoking tobacco certainly had not; the sight of the smoke drifting up into the air was a familiar one. As Sunjata stepped in, he almost wished he could smell the tobacco that lingered on his clothes, just for another taste of home.

Well aware he would look odd sat there staring at a book moving the pages without his hands but not wanting to simply stare into space either, he glanced over to the shopkeeper - as always, oblivious, almost asleep. Putting on his best 'you can probably trust I work here' voice, he asked the newcomer: “Hello Sir. Could I inquire what it is you're looking for today? I may be able to assist.”

[Sunjata Bratena]

A part of him had truly hoped nobody would say anything to him – inviting conversation he didn’t really know how to move forward with. Especially here, because he’d not entirely had a thought in mind when he’d stepped in other than browsing what options there were and seeing if any stuck out to him – which is difficult to explain to someone wishing to help.

Of course, the voice reaches him, and he looks up from the row of books he’d been scanning, fingers pausing on the leather binds to peer at the counter where the shopkeeper was when he’d entered, he realized that he wasn’t being addressed by him. So after a glance to his other side, he notices a man at a table, half turning toward him as he goes to clear his throat. “Uh, well, maybe you have some recommendations? I don’t really have anything in mind.” He admits, nose wrinkling slightly with the thought before he shakes his head. “Maybe something less popular?” He flashes the stranger a small half smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes, but it's a clear attempt at being polite.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

“Recommendations...well, it will be difficult to make any when I don't quite know Sir's tastes, but...” Sam put a finger to his lips and turned, glancing over the shelves and mentally checking through the genres. Of course, even in this vintage bookstore, he didn't know a lot of the stories for sale. “Less popular? Something old, then, perhaps.”

Old and not popular, much like himself. (hah...hahah..ha)

Walking over to the fiction section, then kneeling down to get to the books released when he was still breathing, he let his finger drift over the spines, realising quite late into this endeavour he wasn't going to be able to pick up a book and hand it over. Instead, awkwardly, he pointed to a dull red cover. “Do you like romances? The Wings of the Dove was quite the sensation upon it's release.”

[Sunjata Bratena]

If he’s being honest, even he doesn’t know his tastes, but that’s part of the whole asking for recommendations. Maybe it’d be something he wouldn’t at all have picked on his own and turned into his favorite thing? It’s why he leaves it solely in the stranger’s hands.

He trails after a bit belatedly when Samuel moves, curious about what he’s picked up on. “Old is good.” Sunjata comments idly, realizing he hadn’t confirmed nor denied the suggestion. And when the next question comes, his brows lift slightly, one scarred more than the other as he tilts his head. “Haven’t read much of them, to be honest. Might as well try it, right?” Flashing yet another polite smile, he steps forward to pick up the book, flipping open the cover to scan the first page, trying to see if he could get a glimpse of what it was about.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

“I'm glad you think so.” Sam mumbled mostly to himself, having recently learnt that he himself was very old indeed.

Thankfully Sunjata seemed nonplussed about having to grab the book himself; Sam took a step back, waited for him to take a look. He glanced over to the desk where the shopkeeper sat, a little worried he was about to be yelled at for taking over his job, but as always the man seemed entirely unbothered by what was going on around him. Maybe he even believed he must had hired Sam and forgotten about it.

“Um..” Sam took a breath. Sunjata wasn't the first person he'd spoken to but he was still getting used to the whole idea that he was here in the first place, talking to anyone in the far future from when he'd last been alive. Still, he couldn't go around telling everyone he was a ghost; if he wanted proper answers about when and where he was, he would need to be subtle. “I haven't seen you in here before, Sir. Are you new to the area?”

[Sunjata Bratena]

He isn’t sure if he’s heard the man correctly or not with the comment, but chooses to ignore it in favor for figuring out what the book’s about. Getting a general gist of it, though, Sunjata’s content with what he sees and figures it might as well be worth a shot. What’s the worst that happens, anyway?

His attention remains on the cover when the other man speaks again, only for a few moments before he closes the book and looks up to give Sam his full attention, steel gaze scanning the red haired man briefly (noticing something was off but trying not to look at it too deeply). “I moved here a couple weeks ago, actually.” Sunjata murmurs, flashing a crooked and toothy smile, one that seems oddly fitting with the light hint of an Australian accent. “Came from sunny California.” If you don’t include the weeks of exploring the middle of the States before he’d ended up here, that is. “I live in Lower Fens so I'm trying to explore more of the rest of the city.” Adding on the tidbit with a light roll of his broad shoulders, Sunjata keeps his attention fixed on Sam.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

“Oh, California. I've heard of it, though I can't say I know much.” Sam said casually, then after a moment or so realised that might sound unusual where they were (which he was mostly sure was somewhere in America). With a little laugh he explained: “I'm from England. I haven't explored very much, I'm afraid.”

He certainly had no idea where 'Lower Fens' was, but he kept that question for the time being, not wanting to appear like too much of an alien in this town. Of course, with his outdated way of dressing, accent and tendency to go fuzzy on the edges, it was hard to keep up an appearance of normalcy for long.

“How, um, how are you finding it, living here? Has it lived up to your expectations? I haven't ventured particularly far out of...” Sam hesitated, about to say something he'd heard a few times in the store. “...Old...Town?”

[Sunjata Bratena]

He half expects the man to know all about California – given that it seemed like the rest of the world did. Though… Probably through the lens of tv shows and movies, something that Sunjata – as he starts to truly inspect Sam’s attire and the edge of fuzziness blooming around him – that he realizes the man before him might not exactly have gotten those experiences. “You’re not missing much. A lot of sand, people, traffic. Expensive to live there.” His nose wrinkles as he lists off what he recalls from growing up there.

As for living here, the way Sam seems to note Old Town in a questioning tone, Sunjata starts to pick up a little bit more of what the other man’s experience might be, and with it a soft twist of his lips in a smile accompanies the nod he offers. “It’s been good. A nice change of pace.” And he pauses, to let those words sink in before he continues. “This is Old Town, yeah. I’m going to guess that you don’t get out much at all, huh?” His head tilts, steel eyes focusing a bit more on the fraying fuzzy edges of the red headed man. “How long have you been here?”

[Samuel Wordsworth]

“I see. It must be nice to live by the ocean. I didn't have much opportunity to go - only the once, with my wife, on her birthday...” The memory had lain hidden until he'd spoken of it and he was suddenly hit with the memory of the cold English sea around his ankles, his striped bathing suit and his wife's large sunhat. It had been a good day.

He could have been offended at Sunjata's assumption, but he supposed it was probably pretty obvious. Still a little embarrassed, he rubbed the back of his neck as he shrugged. “I believe it to have been at least a couple of years...I've heard people speak of Christmas twice. It is only recently I've decided to attempt speaking to anyone myself, though. I found out what year it is recently, which was...quite the shock. I thought by now you might have automaton butlers and live forever.”

[Sunjata Bratena]

The way the stranger trails off makes it seem as though it shouldn’t be something Sunjata asks about – so instead, he chooses to nod his head in agreement with the beginning. Living by the ocean did have its perks, but only because he loved the water as much as he did. The never-ending crowds of people were certainly a downer, though.

Sunjata focuses on the stranger, though, picking up on the faint edges and the way Samuel talks, and he muses a little curiously when he hears tidbits like ”heard people speak of Christmas twice” and ”found out what year it is recently”. His brows raise, the scarred one lifting a little bit higher than the other as he tilts his head – suddenly realizing he’s talking to a ghost. “Damn.” He comments with a small huff of laughter. “I mean… I’ve seen little robots deliver food to places back home.” He trails off, because it’s certainly not an automated butler. “How long has it been since you…?” His smile falls a little, not wanting to be blunt and awful in saying ’since you died’

[Samuel Wordsworth]

New of little robots delivering food had Sam looking up with a raised eyebrow; what on earth was going on outside the bookshop he'd been cooped up in?! The only thing he'd been able to see through the glass was that cars were far more common now than they ever had been in his time and that they looked different now too. He'd also seen little dots in the sky that he'd thought might be flying machines of some sort, but that had seemed too outlandish.

But if they had food-delivering robots.... “I apologise for my ignorance, but...has man learnt to fly? I do sometimes see things in the sky that make quite the noise. I thought at first it might be some kind of great animal, but now I wonder.”

He gave Sunjata a kind smile as he heard the trail off, knowing that it was an awkward question to ask - and an uncomfortable one to answer. Still, it was a natural curiosity, and if he were to keep asking Sunjata questions, it seemed only fair to answer some himself. “It had just come into the Summer of 1902. I felt very modern, to be at the beginning of a new century...only for me to sail past all of it.”

[Sunjata Bratena]

Well, if answering his question about when exactly the spirit before him had died, he figures it’s answered with the follow up question of man learning to fly. His scarred brow raises and he reaches up to rub at his neck, where the sharp edges of compass needles in a deep navy ink poke up from under his shirt. “Yeah, they have. We call them planes. Or airplanes, I guess if you wanna be more official.” He tears his gaze away from the spirit to glance out the window, spying the sunset’s gilded glow again. “Can have small ones that carry a few people, to large passenger ones that carry hundreds of people.”

He's surprised to be answering that question, of course, never once in his life imagining he’d be having to explain robots and airplanes to someone that died over one hundred years ago, yet here he is. When Sam reveals the date, his attention flickers back toward the spirit, his free hand tucking the recommended book into his side. “Probably pretty confusing, huh?” The spirit had missed a whole hell of a lot of things that happened in those years, the thought enough to make the panther shifter wince slightly.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

The casual way that Sunjata confirmed man had learnt to fly was a little hard to swallow; the last hundred or so years really had been significant. It would have been nice for Sam to believe that without him the world would have hung suspended, waiting for him until it continued. “I...see...and how far do they go? Surely not across the oceans.”

Another casual phrase made him laugh this time. “That's quite the understatement. All of this is utterly baffling and in addition to the time that has passed...I find that people here are remarkably open to the idea of seeing a ghost. You yourself don't seem to be scared of me. Why is that?” Not that Sam wanted people to be scared of him, but the way he had been so readily accepted by the people in this town was odd. In the last hundred years had the afterlife become a fact? Had spirits begun to roam the Earth?

[Sunjata Bratena]

He doesn’t mean to laugh. He really, really doesn’t. but the way that Sam says it sparks a chuckle of surprise leaving him, lips quirking in amusement as he looks back toward the spirit. “Oh easily. Think it’s like… Seven hours or something from here to London.” He shrugs, thinking nothing of the comment and how it might impact Sam’s already reeling thoughts.

When he asks why Sunjata isn’t afraid of him, well, the amusement shifts into a crooked and boyish smile, not entirely wanting to offend the spirit but… “You’re not exactly scary..?” He starts to say, trying to figure out how to say it nicely. “I mean sure, I’d probably be scared if it seemed like you wanted to eat me or kill me or something but you literally only helped me find a book.” He pauses to squint, lips still twisted in amusement. “You're more like Casper than the dangerous kind.” Something he realizes the second it leaves his lips that Sam would also not get.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

“It's...what?” Sam was rarely so blunt, but there were no words to express his confusion. Mere hours for a journey from America to London? In his time it would have been boats, days and weeks at sea, an impossible distance for the average person unable to afford a place on vessels. “But...how could they possibly have enough fuel? How many people can travel at once? Do these journeys happen often? I-” He shook his head. “I apologise. I have too many questions.”

Honestly it was comforting to hear he wasn't scary. When he'd first begun to work out his current state, he'd worried his face would appear as a ghastly skull, or his presence would ignite terror in those around him. “I suppose so. I, ah, don't know what a 'Casper' is, but I believe that's a compliment. Though for many, what would scare them about the presence of a ghost might not be the ghost himself, but the questions he raises about our lives, as they were, after death...” Sam mused, mostly to himself.

Abruptly, he reminded himself that Sunjata had come here to choose a book, not listen to the ramblings of a confused old ghost. “Oh, you must be wanting to get along. I do apologise, it's been so long since I had people to talk to.”

[Sunjata Bratena]

The deluge of questions this time at least, doesn’t surprise the shifter. If anything, it sparks a chuckle from him, shaking his head as if to convey that he didn’t really mind. Once again, it was probably a huge surprise, something Sunjata can’t even wrap his mind around.

Nor does he really want to, he suspects.

“Happen pretty often. Huge planes, tons of fuel, can literally take hundreds of people.” He tries to surmise the best he can, before he reaches into his pocket, drawing out the pack of smokes to tuck into the breast pocket of his jacket, before he’s withdrawing his cellphone while he listens to Sam take in the idea of Casper the Friendly Ghost.

As he continues, it really only sparks a murmur of agreement – nothing he wants to think about particularly too hard, keeping thoughts of death and what came next as far out of his mind as possible lest it ruin his mood, thinking about Luci.

He shakes his head, though, to the apology as he gestures for Sam to follow him toward the table the spirit had been at before, and the shifter pulls up a chair. “I’ve got time.” He reassures Sam, setting the book down as he sets his phone on the table and flips it toward the spirit, the screen illuminated with a picture of passenger plane in the sky. “For the previous questions, this is what they look like.” Flashing Sam a slightly playful grin, he waits for the questions to arrive.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

Sam was still trying to get over the casual confirmation of planes when Sunjata gestured for him to sit and pulled out one of the small black things he'd seen people with in the last two years. Quite eager to get past the topic of death for a while himself, he let himself instead revel in baffled curiosity.

“I...see...but...” A little shy, knowing he was severely lacking in knowledge that seemed to come easily to everyone else here, Sam pointed at the device itself. “This thing that you have...I've seen people speak into them like a telephone, but it shows pictures as well?”

[Sunjata Bratena]

His steel gaze slips up toward Samuel as the shy hesitation begins, the panther shifter leaving his phone out with the planes displayed as he listens for the question, glancing toward the phone while Sam points to it. “Yeah.” Sunjata says, cutting himself off abruptly from saying it’s like a little computer, realizing that the spirit probably didn’t know what that was either.

Flashing a toothy and apologetic smile, Sunjata rolls a shoulder in a small shrug. “It’s a telephone but can be used like… An encyclopedia? It can show pictures and films and answer any questions you have.” Well, most questions, he supposes. He also hopes he’s figured out the terminology to make it easier for Samuel to swallow.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

While his circumstances made his confusion more than understandable, Sam still felt a prick of embarrassment as Sunjata so casually described the device in his hand that was like a miracle to him - no, something more than a miracle. Something he could hardly believe he could see, never mind understand.

Films, for instance - he'd heard of some recordings being made, experimental things with cameras that had only just been invented when he left...could they really be on such a small device? How did it not only make phone calls (how did you dial without a wheel?) but show what a projector could?

For now, he left that to one side, more fascinated by the final claim. “Any...questions? Any at all?” He blinked at the little box. “Well...could you...ask it about me? How I came to be here? Does it know that?”

[Sunjata Bratena]

Out of all of the questions he expected the spirit before him to ask, the one he’s posed with is not one of them. And the panther shifter lifts his gaze, letting it linger on Sam for a few moments as he contemplates it, humming under his breath before he finally decides to respond. “There’s… Theories, of course, but nothing really confirmed.” Such was a way of making everything comfortable for humans, as far as Sunjata knew. It’s why he keeps his secret so close to his chest, even if he’d heard that this place was a bit more laxed about it.

Ghosts were one thing. A panther shape shifter was another thing entirely.

He slips the phone back toward himself, types in a few things on it, and reads for a few more moments before he tilts his head. “So… It says that spirits can attach themselves to objects..?” His gaze snaps up toward Sam, curious if that might resonate with him.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

Sunjata's hesitation dampened Sam's enthusiasm; though as the man continued it seemed they'd perhaps had a miscommunication. He smiled politely and shook his head, already confident in Dalton's ability to help with his spiritual issues. “Ah, I actually meant...me, specifically. I was wondering if it knew anything about me.”

There was plenty he remembered, but a lot of his life before now was vague. There had to be records of some kind, right? Some proof he had existed? With a quiet sigh, he continued: “I'd love to know what happened to my wife. Or the shop - or, well, anything.”

[Sunjata Bratena]

Confusion flares for the moment on the panther shifter’s face, head tilting slightly as he lowers the phone and peeks up at the spirit, his steel gaze catching that polite smile. “Ahh, uh…” And he pauses for a moment, clearing out the search to start to type in Sam’s name, unsure what other parameters there might be in regards to what it was exactly he should be looking for (like the name of the shop, or his wife, or obituary, for that matter).

“What was the name of the shop? And your wife?” Sunjata asks, turning his attention back down toward the phone to start to type it in.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

Sam watched Sunjata begin to tap away at the device, for a moment almost expecting an instant result, an immediate glimpse of his whole life on the little screen. It seemed it wasn't that simple though.

“Oh, um - Just Wordsworth books.” His father had always been a straightforward man and he hadn't had the heart to change the name once he took over. “And...” He sighed, not having said her name in so long: “Milly. Mildred, though she hated that name.”

Information given he stared down at the phone again, waiting to see what modern technology could tell him about himself, if anything. Had he been important enough to stay in the world's records, to be remembered?

[Sunjata Bratena]

Samuel is correct in that it isn’t that easy – a lot of fiddling through old scans of old newspapers, ones that are only half legible to begin with. Alas, he types it in and searches and it takes a few minutes before he finds one he can read. His free hand lifts to run through his hair, resting at the back of his neck idly as he starts to speak. “Well… There’s this article from the 1930s. It’s of Milly’s passing.” He glances up quickly to offer condolences with a soft little “I’m sorry.” before he clears his throat to continue.

“Wordsworth Books was then sold shortly after. It became a… Restaurant, it looks like?” His brows pinch before he hums softly. “Your uhm, murder was and still is unsolved.” He shifts to slip the phone over to face Sam so that he might be able to see the article for himself.

[Samuel Wordsworth]

Sam waited patiently as Sunjata looked up the information - after all, had it been back in his time, this would have been days of searching in a library, requesting permissions for records and making appointments. When Sunjata did speak, he didn't quite expect to hear what he did, but he only nodded softly - he'd had two years to come to terms with everyone he'd known back then being dead.

“Does it say how?” He asked, hoping to find it was peaceful and quiet, unlike his own fate. He leaned in to squint at the screen, unused to the brightness of it against the words, but could see the article well enough to scan a few lines and know Sunjata was telling the truth. “A restaurant. I suppose it's as good as anything else.”

As for the murder, well, he had been the only one there at the time and it had been awfully quick..he sighed. “Thank you. I've heard from people coming in that there are more advanced ways to catch a criminal now than there were in my time...but I suppose that doesn't help me. Not that I could do anything about it - whoever he is, he's likely dead.”

[Sunjata Bratena]

Despite time making it easier, Sunjata still feels as though it’s necessary to apologize for it, even if Samuel seems more intrigued by the rest of the conversation. Tilting his head as he scans back to the article, nodding as the panther shifter clears his throat again. “Old age, peacefully.” He hopes that it’s solace enough for the spirit.

As for the rest of it, he nods again, nose wrinkling slightly at the thought. If it hadn’t have happened so long ago and so far away, perhaps he might have tried to get more information, given his status as an ex-officer. But there was far little he could do other than research. “There are many different ways to catch people now.” He agrees, even if a touch apologetically. “And some places have started to backtrack to older cases, provided the evidence isn’t tampered with and still in decent condition.” Shrugging a shoulder, he clicks his phone off and turns his steel gaze toward the spirit again. “Not sure if it’ll happen with yours, but uh, I can keep tabs on it if you want?”

[Samuel Wordsworth]

“Ah - a relief.” Sam smiled, just a little, hoping that she'd found someone who could make her happy in the ways he never could. While obviously, he wouldn't have chosen such a dramatic way for it to occur, perhaps his departure from his wife's life wasn't such a tragedy. They had never had a marriage based in the right kind of love.

Sunjata's offer was kind, even if it did seem a hell of a long shot that anything would ever happen. Sam nodded encouragingly, then cleared his throat and leaned back.

“Anyway, you are here for a book, not to hear me talk of such dreary matters.” He gestured at the shelves. “Please, feel free to browse. Or perhaps tell me something about yourself instead of all this focus on me.”