It's only one branch of the main public library, but it'll do for homework purposes.

Dictionaries, encyclopedias, reference books. All that good stuff.

Swallow has taken over a small table near the front, and inbetween math problems she's drawing insulting pictures of the patrons. She's wearing tiny reading glasses on a chain (the librarian look, her friends call it).

Small, brownhaired student with papers strewn everywhere and a very large green coat overshadowing everything she does. With aforementioned dorky glasses. Silent, except for the swoosh of her curly handwriting and the scribble of her cartooning.

He was here only to get a book on ancient civilizations.

And he didn't even know why.

But he had to, so he did. Just about as many as he could find too.

Spent most of his day just reading most of them so he didn't have to carry a lot home.

He's a quick reader, already gone through several encyclopedias as well as about what, fifty other books?

He's an odd one to see now, walking up to a chair near the front, having put back the other books. Now he just has ten, and he sets nine on a small table beside the chair, keeping one to read as he sits down.

Ebony ringlets, falling down to his diaphram, decorate his head, with several streaks of different random rainbow colors jetting through his hair. Lovely face, large glowing green eyes set in them, it seems like there are pink and yellow flecks in them, brought out even more next to his thick, sooty eyelashes. Four long scars on the right side of his face, along his cheek, stand out against his ivory skin.

Lip piercing is a thick, tight silver hoop, a stud in his nose, and two sets of large hoop earrings in his ears. His pink mouth is set into a solemn look, eyes the same, as his eyes flicker over the page, reading quickly, a book on Athens.

The arm attached to the hand holding the book has a watch and a tattoo reading 'Jibril Alphonse Digger', the other hand on the arm of the chair has a few gel bracelets and a tattoo reading 'Logan'.

His attire certianly caught a dissaproving look from the librarian. Covered in chains, heavy black goth pants with pockets and spikes, held up by a thick studded belt. His shirt is also black, with a neon green heart on it. Boots are huge, pant legs partially tucked into them. They come up to his knees, with thick belts stretching across them, steel toe, and shining steel buckles.

Its amazing he even has an aura of gentleness about him.

Swallow eyes him for a while out of the corner of her eye, and then starts her drawing.

It is a snake. It is a winged snake, with a ring in its nose, a dopey expression and his face, though how she achieves that on a snake I couldn't tell you.

It also has spike bracelets and a spike-cap on the tip of its tail. She shades these messily with extra graphite inbetween the last of her math problems.

Then she has to sharpen her pencil.

She drops the drawing on his book as she swans her way to the pencil sharpener.

For the record, it is a mocking drawing.

She catches his eye.

Mainly because of that coat.

Who in their right mind would wear a coat in a library?

His eyes, lined in black, was a burning hot gaze on her back. One of the 'gives you goosebumps' looks, but instead of chills, you heat up. He doesn't even mean to. He's just curious.

Is she cold? Is she wearing a shirt she doesn't want to? Is she hiding something under the coat?

His own wings were hidden, tucked in his back. It's a bitch yes, but you'd never catch him dead in a trench coat.

She finishes sharpening her pencil, turns with a flourish, and heads back towards her own table, and pauses next to his, to inform him in a cool, regal tone, "You are staring."

Doesn't he know that's rude?

She's a child who thinks that she's already lived through it all, grown up completely.

It's really rather a shame. One shouldn't be in that much of a hurry to lose one's innocence.

Jibril sat up straight, his eyes boring into her's.

"Merely observing your coat."

His voice, is nothing like male's his age. Or what looks like his age, possibly 19 years. Unlike his actual 7,006 years. And she thinks she's been through enough? His voice is low, bass, rough yet smooth, like his stare it creates goosebumps on many a people.

His tongue is pierced too.

"And what, pray tell, is so interesting about my coat?"

She is a haughty child. And pulling off the best impression ever of 'librarian in a big green coat'.

Not many people try to pull that off, of course.

"You're wearing something that big in a building where there is already heating."

He is very observative.

"So obviously you're hiding something."

Maybe it is a shirt she doesn't like, girls are known to do that after all.

He sniffs. Something odd smells about her too. She's human but...there is some other scent to her.

Odd.

"Your point being?" She can be very, very chilly when she wants to be, can Swallow.

Just because she doesn't like endlessly explaining her wings to complete strangers doesn't make her some kind of Russian spy.

Does Russian even have spies anymore?

Anyway.

Jibril shrugged.

"Simply curious."

He had a small smile on his face, crossing his legs at the ankles, looking completely nonchalant.

He is absolutely harmless. Seeming. Sorta.

Another sniff...hmm, she smells like...

"Bird."

Sort of raised eyebrow.

She smells like bird.

Odd.

She sniffs audibly.

"I am not a bird. Having wings does not make me a bird."

She doesn't go on to say she's an angel, because the Christian connotations would take too long.

"Why do you care, anyway?"

Jibril almost grinned.

But he was rather surprised.

A human with wings? Not unheard of, but certainly rare, like his own species.

"Why would I care?"

Thoughtful look. Then again, she also just told him she has wings.

"Because I do too."

So there.

"Really."

She is such a skeptic for one so young.

Tragic, really.

"Mhm. I'm hiding them right now."

He looked over her.

"I don't normally meet humans with wings."

He leaned back slightly.

"But we Angels do."

'Cause we're supposed to.

"...right. Had any chats with god lately?" Cynicism. And lots of it.

I do believe Swallow's a bit of an atheist.

Or perhaps agnostic or some such.

Jibril shook his head.

"I don't talk to the gods. They don't like being bothered I do believe, if I have heard correctly."

Plus he has a healthy respect for his own well being.

Note the s on gods, plural. More than one. Not God. Gods.

A shrug.

He'd show her his wings if she asked, and if she showed her's.

As long as they weren't in here.

"Whatever you say, mister."

She's too busy for this.

"If you'll excuse me, I have studying to do."

Some people have lives.

"Would you like to see them?"

His wings, he means. Cocked head, looking at her in interest.

He wants to see her's.

It must be uncomfortable to keep them under that coat like that.

Hers are small yet, only barely reaching her hips. They fit well enough.

"I'm busy." But.... She is a kid. And she has a wing fetish (or something approaching one - she just kinda loves wings).

"Fine." It's a great hardship, but she'll put up with it. "Where? There's no room in here."

Wingspan, donchaknow.

For his definetly, he has a nearly 30 foot wingspan.

"Uhm, outside in the tree area?"

Nice and thick out there.

He shrugged.

"Unless you have a better idea."

"That would work. If you touch me, I have pepper spray."

...she's a blunt kid. It's a valid thing to say to a strange man you meet in a city library, however.

And I suppose among other things, the coat is good for carrying things like the aforementioned pepperspray.

Hers is only ten feet - or perhaps twelve.

And she's heading outside.

He can catch up, see.

Yea, that's okay, he isn't insulted.

He likes little boys anyways.

No, not really. But Logan can't be much older than her.

"Okay."

His long strides easilly catch him up to her, almost bypassing her.

She can lead, bossy little female.

And once they're out and in relative privacy, barring satellite, she shrugs off her coat because she doesn't actually care because she doesn't know about the innish-unnish devide, just that she has wings and that Everything Exists.

Her wings are long-feathered, tapering, with brown-and-black markings reminiscent of pheasants or perhaps some breed of falcon. She spreads them with a sigh, because they do cramp.

A few leasurely flaps, and then she puts her coat back on.

"It is cold out." And it's making her snippy. (Not that she needs any help in the snippy department.)

I think it's the bird in her that gets cold so easily.

Indeed.

Jibril didn't need long to look over them, rather interested, it showed on his face.

They weren't vrey big, but she was young, and they would never get to his size, considering she most likely get to his height or age.

Definetly not age.

He nodded.

"Fair 'nough."

Hands slipped down to his shirt hem, and pulled the tight material off, tossing curls when pulled off. His torso was slim and muscular, as pale as he was, low riding pants showing off fine hip bones and a black tattoo on them, as well as a pierced belly button.

Stretching a bit, he turned around, so his back was to her. "You can close your eyes in the beginning, it isn't pretty."

He gave a grunt, and slowly, bumps raise on his back, pressing against the skin, tighter and tighter, until finally it looks too tight and excrutiatingly plainful. He doesn't even twitch as the horrid sound of skin ripping open as silver bleeds from his back, two masses of black jutting from his back. Another rip and out come his wings, stretching out to their possibly over 20 foot wing span, silver blood trickling down them and his back.

A giant flap sends blood everywhere and he turns around, looking blankly at her, giving a sort of questioning shrug.

She watches it thoughtfully, not bothering to pretend to be squeamish. She wants to be a doctor. She got over the sight of blood a long time ago.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

She doesn't care. It's an academic interest.

Still, if she ever has to treat an angel like him, she'll need to know. There aren't exactly medical textbooks on the biology of angels.

"It used to."

See any signs of the skin rips? Nope, because it is perfectly healed now. He is standing there, wings stretching out quite majestically as he stood breathing slowly. A shrug.

"Now I heal so quickly I rarely feel physical pain anymore."

The scars all over his chest and arms are from the past. Way back in the past. He has a faded, but rather nasty looking one over his heart, where he had gotten stabbed through. Quite amazing he had lived actually. Anyways.

"Uh-huh... how long ago was that?" Says Swallow, who really is far too skeptical for one so young.

He doesn't look that old.

She does find him... interesting... without his shirt on.

Which is why she circles enough to have a look at the scar, at which point she glances up at his face, questions in her eyes, unvoiced for the moment.

That looked painful.

"I don't remember exactly..."

He pursed his lips, thinking.

"A long, long time ago...thousands of years ago..."

That was what he had been told or something like that. A fortune telling woman told him that he had been an ancient creature, thousands of years old, and evil. While he never really believed the evil part, it disturbed him slightly for him to be called evil. Ah well.

"You." Said with a disparaging once-over, "Are over a thousand years old."

She doesn't believe him, can you tell?

Jibril nodded.

"Yes."

He looked over her.

"But you don't believe me, do you?"

He shook his head.

"You didn't believe I'm an angel either. Well...we angels aren't like anything any churches or bibles say. Winged humanoids is the more techincal term. Not human, but not really animals. Humanoid...winged humanoid...yea..."

"Huh."

And she, once more, looks him up and down appraisingly.

I think she'd do that less often if he put his shirt back on.

"Care to explain in more detail?"

Academic interest. Is it ever anything else with this girl?

He looked at her, blankly, though feeling a little weird.

And she was snapping at him earlier for staring.

Is she checking him out?

He blinked.

"About what? The angel thing?"

He was never fond of explaining his species.

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, the angel thing. It isn't covered in history class, mister man."

Idiot.

She has high standards, can you tell?

Indeed.

"Please." He pointed to the wrist with the watch. "Jibril."

He snuffled, leaning back slightly.

"I suppose I could tell you...but I'm not comfortable talking here."

"We can go back inside if you want."

It's cold out, for one thing.

She is not going anywhere she doesn't know with a strange man who claims to be immortal.

She isn't stupid.

Who could blame her?

Not me, and I'm sure no one else. 'Cept Logan. Logan stayed in Jibril's house despite the fact he was a total stranger.

And now they are kind of well...lovers. Master and Angel.

Jibril nodded.

"Fine with me, you go on ahead, I need to deal with these."

A point to his wings.

She snorts.

"You're one of the compulsives, aren't you."

Compulsive secret-keepers, that is. Her term for true initiates.

Oh noes, the government is going to do experiments.

Stick your tin foil hat up your... um... wing and tell me another one, angel boy.

Jibril blinked.

Huh?

Blank look was given in reply.

"Uhm, I don't...think so?"

Darlin', you've confused him, he justs wants to get his wings all hidden again and it is a nasty, painful-looking thing and he dun't want her around so there. And the Kay doesn't want to explain how it happens.

Too gross.

And confusing.

And truthfully, she really hasn't figured out the whole process herself.

She shrugs. "Nevermind."

And she goes inside, because she doesn't care enough to explain.

This is a common trait of hers.

I don't feel like explaining what happens next.

But after five minutes, Jibril comes inside, shirt (sadly) back on, and he is looking for her.

His books aren't there anymore.

Damnit.

He's getting glares from the librarian.

And he has to go find the books again.

Now where is that girl?