Thump, thump, thump.
The only sound in the bookstore was that of Shireen's walking stick striking the floor, just the way she liked it. None of the neighboring storefronts were raising a ruckus, and her shift was almost halfway done without a single customer to bother her.
Instead, Shireen could be alone with the books, walking between the shelves and keeping an eye for anything out of place. Ordering the chaos made by customers was an endless task, and one that could only properly be done without further distractions.
Thump, thump, thump.
No customers also meant no stares. One would think Shireen would have gotten used to the looks that her childhood case of graystone had earned her. Yet the hostility that built up from the gawking only grew with time. Shireen had been told she was a kind and sociable child, but the years had cooled her temperament to something closer to her famously icy father.
She pursed her lips, catching a misplaced book out of the corner of her eye and grabbing it with her free hand, pulling it from its erroneous location. "This is the entirely wrong genre," she growled under her breath, before striding towards the novel's true home, her walking stick marking the steps as she went.
Thump, thump, thump.
With each step, a stab of pain. From her legs, yes, but from everywhere else as well. As though her bones collectively objected to her every action. It was worse than usual that day, and the light painkillers she was prescribed were doing little to help.
It would be no use to go and sit down, however. Walking through the bookstore didn't help the pain, obviously, but sitting at the front desk was barely better. She chose to keep walking and get something done over being lax on the job.
Thump, thump, ding~
Just as Shireen reached the section she needed, she paused, hearing the bell that signified someone had entered.
Her manager would have asked her to go up to the customer, offer to help them directly, but Shireen was in no mood for such a thing. Instead, she called out, "I'm in the Mystery novel section if you would like my assistance," before going back to scanning the bookshelves to find the spot where this book belonged, among others by the same author.
She'd just discovered her quarry, one low enough Shireen had to crouch in order to settle the book into its home. Baring the pain of that as best she could, Shireen rose up again and noticed someone was approaching her.
"Hey there!" called the stranger. The woman was not someone Shireen recognized, and thus unlikely to be a regular. It was rare to see a woman as tall as her uncle Robert, but with a whiplike build that matched her angular face. Her short black hair annoyed Shireen from the moment she saw it, unkempt and messy, and her smile was even worse. Too easily given, and too sharp to be trusted.
Her outfit looked as though it was conjured directly from Stannis's lectures on 'punks'. Black jeans with rips and tears in the name of 'fashion' paired with a yellow tank top that bared the woman's arms. Said arms looked strong and capable, with scars dotting their lengths as evidence of a life lived roughly, and a faint line on her neck only reinforced that impression.
Realizing the woman was expecting some sort of reply, Shireen frowned and told her, "Welcome to Baratheon Books, how can I help you?" She did not bother to inject even a false affability to her tone, nothing to indicate she was at all interested in helping this woman.
If the customer could tell, she didn't show it. Still grinning, she replied, "Name's Asha, and it looks like we match."
"Shireen." Confused as to what this Asha woman meant, Shireen looked down and made the connection. She'd worn a freshly laundered black blouse tucked into a long yellow skirt, the sort of prim and professional attire Shireen preferred. And yet, for all the styles clashed, the colors of their outfits did match, though the order was reversed. "Indeed. Did you need any help?" Open irritation prickled into her words. She did not have any interest in idle chit chat with a ruffian.
"I do, actually, and you're just the pretty girl who can help me with it," Asha responded, leaning her elbow on a nearby shelf as she spoke. "I've got this paper due in a month, covering an obscure novel, and the university library told me it'd take ages to transfer a copy in. Thought you might have it."
Ignoring the lie about her appearance, Shireen considered the question and the woman asking it. "You're...attending university? Is this for a postgraduate degree?" A blunt question, but Shireen couldn't help asking it, since this woman appeared to be in her early thirties, likely eight or so years Shireen's elder.
Rather than taking offense, as was so often the case with Shireen's choice of words, Asha laughed. The sound was as sharp as her smile, almost a bark. "You'd think, right? Naw, it's my second semester. It's a long story, but I'm just getting around to the whole degree thing."
"I'm sure you spent the intervening years on worthwhile endeavors," Shireen said dryly, skepticism unrestrained in her tone.
"Nope," Asha replied without rancor, popping the ending syllable of the word. "But hey, I'm still young, I've got plenty of time. Plus, there are some folks in my class old enough to be my grandpa, so in comparison I'm not an outier at all."
"Outlier," Shireen corrected without missing a beat. "Now then, can you give me the title you're looking for? Or the author?"
Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, Asha pulled out a wadded up piece of paper, then smoothing it out to read. "Let's see... 'Keep Kutpurse' is the name of the thing, and it's written by...shit, the name's smudged. I think it's-"
"Marye Midbridge. Right this way." Surprised to hear someone asking about one of their older texts, a rare reprinting of a largely forgotten novel from a few centuries ago, Shireen started towards where she had to go, and expected Asha to keep up.
Thump, thump, thump.
Asha's long legs seemed to make doing that quite simple for her, despite Shireen's brisk pace. "Damn, you're like a walking inventory of this place. What else do you have stashed in that gorgeous brain of yours?"
Grinding her teeth, Shireen tried to ignore the question, but found herself unable to. "More than you can imagine. For instance, I'm fluent in High Valyrian and Rhoyn, and I know how to manage simple conversations in another four languages."
Thump, thump, thump.
"Wow. That is impressive. Say something in...Dothraki!"
"Yer affesi anni."
Asha laughed. "Why do I have the feeling that you just insulted me?"
They reached their destination, a locked cabinet that held the books that were worth protecting. "You reached that conclusion for one of two reasons: either you can speak Dothraki and you didn't realize it, or you have the ability to read my tone of voice. Scholars will wonder which for generations." Shireen pulled out the lanyard that held the keys to the case, and began unlocking it.
"See, I don't know about that second one. The unenlightened rube might say you're being hostile and bitchy, but I think you like me." Shireen stopped, key in the lock, and shot Asha a hostile look. It had no effect, Asha continued to look at her affably. "See, that right there. A glare, or a look of longing?"
"The only thing I am 'longing' for is for you to leave the store." With the cabinet open, Shireen reached in and withdrew the hardbound book, one old enough, even as a reprint, that it clearly was bound using techniques that were rather antiquated in the modern day. "This book will be five hundred dragons."
For the first time, something Shireen said actually shattered that friendly attitude of Asha's. Gaping at the price, Shireen could see on her face as the woman started making mental calculations, before sagging in defeat. "There is no way I can afford that..."
Shireen was frustrated to realize she actually felt bad for the girl. It was never a pleasant feeling to find something you needed was outside your price range, and part of her wondered if she shouldn't have told her that before making her walk all this way. Still, she had to be firm. "I'm sorry, but in that case, you'll need to come back when you can."
"Fuck...I'm going to fail this class if I can't get that book." For a moment, as Asha looked longingly at the book in Shireen's hands, she felt a stab of fear. Was this woman, so much taller and stronger than her, going to snatch it from Shireen's hands, steal it?
Instead, a sudden smile stretched across Asha's face once more. "Wait! Shireen, can I just come by here, and ready it while you work? I promise, I'll be so quiet you don't even know I'm here."
The excitement and elation in Asha's voice made Shireen want to agree immediately, but she could already hear her father's rumbling baritone in her head on what he would think. "This is not a library." With a heavy heart, she echoed those very words back to Asha,
Instead of admitting defeat, Asha considered for a moment before giving Shireen a sly look. "You hate talking to customers, right?"
She flinched. "That...is an exaggeration, but not wholly untrue. Why?" Even with no rebuke in Asha's voice, Shireen still felt embarrassed for being so transparent about her social malaise.
"How about this: instead of buying it, I come in on your shifts and read the book, and whenever a customer comes in, I pretend I work here and handle them for you! That way you can focus on whatever it is you want to be doing, and I can finish this thing in time for the assignment. No one could say you just let people read in the store, since I'm getting it in payment for a service. It's perfect!"
Shireen was going to object, let her down gently, perhaps even offer to help Asha get a job at the store to help her afford the book. But seeing that look in the taller woman's eyes, she just couldn't do it. "Fine, but I'll need to give you at least a rudimentary training in how the store works."
Asha waved a hand, as though dismissing Shireen's words as something to be concerned with. "I've worked loads of service jobs, I'll be fine."
"You'll also need to wear gloves while reading the novel," Shireen continued. "If you're not purchasing it, we cannot allow it to be damaged by your skin oil." Shireen herself carried some with her at all times, just in case.
The student looked at her hands, as though unsure what oil would be there, but she nodded regardless. "Cool, anything else?"
Shireen strongly considered inquiring as to why Asha enjoyed teasing Shireen every now and then with false comments as to her attractiveness, before deciding the why didn't matter. "Follow me. As you're not a true employee, I won't be able to give you access to the cash register. I'll instead start by showing you how the store is divided into genres, and from there how the precise organizing system works.
To Shireen's surprise, Asha soaked up everything she was told like a sponge, easily repeating back anything Shireen wanted and passing every test she could devise. The experiment began that day, with the back half of Shireen's shift completely customer free, aside from one or two required transactions.
When she wasn't reading that book, Asha proved to be a model of customer service. Firm where she had to be, likable enough to get through conversations easily. Shireen couldn't help feeling a little envious.
What would that be like? To move through conversations as easily as one would walk through a room.
On most days, Shireen couldn't manage either of those tasks unaided.
Asha could. That was valuable.
Enough so that, as Shireen ended her shift in a remarkably good mood, envy aside, she considered that Asha's assistance was worth the risk of her father's reaction, should he discover this under the table deal.
The only question was how long the woman could withstand Shireen's presence. Chewing on the conversation between them, Shireen had to admit that Asha hadn't been phased by her barbed wit.
Shireen smiled, and resolved to be twice as sharp the next day, if only to see what effect it would have.