Path of the Vampire forum

Emerson liked how Robin spoke of Lincoln. Laughing, saying that yeah, he's Lincoln, indicating that the man was probably quite the character. Maybe he'd be good to work with and hang around. He was friends (or something like that, Robin hadn't quite explained how he knew him) with Robin, so that meant that he was probably an okay of a guy. And there could be some really good position for Emerson. She could figure out what she was good at and liked doing and incorporate that into her everyday life. She could work and make new friends and earn money while she was at it. It was like some far-off, alternate universe where everything worked out. And Emerson was smart enough to know that things didn't turn out the way people perceived them to. The word 'administration' alone was a bit intimidating to her. She wanted something small, something that didn't sound so grown up and wasn't strung with so much responsibility. She still wanted to have time to go to the park and go out to coffee with people and have days where she could lay around and do nothing. She could branch out later. Or never. Did it matter? She had all of eternity, and that was plenty of time. For now, in the moment, she needed quick cash and something to keep her occupied for a few hours at a time.

Emerson's mind was nothing less than spinning. Maybe she was overthinking things a bit too much.

"I haven't even looked for jobs yet," she explained, picking up a colored pencil to finish up her picture and calm her thoughts. In the reality of it, this was the first time she had ever considered getting a job. She'd thought about it plenty, but pushed the idea away because Prudence was looking out for her and she didn't think it would be necessary."I'll do some job hunting and if I have no luck, you can try with Lincoln." In translation, Emerson was going to find a small job at some shop or another before Robin could ask. Or she was going to lie about finding a job before Robin could ask. Whatever came first.

Emerson didn't want to talk about herself anymore. Not about her lack of memory or lack of a job, especially. "I know you work at Necropolis, but I think Prudence mentioned that you're a writer? How's that?" The brunette liked to sing, and sometimes she wanted to write songs. She was planning on getting herself a cute journal so she could write things down, like memories or dreams or grocery lists. Nothing huge, of course.

Emerson had asked about Robin's writing because she was genuinely interested. There were so many books in the world, but only so many authors were recognized. It must have been a tough area of work. Then again, it wasn't hard to find seven authors in a single magazine, so maybe it wasn't that tough at all. Nonetheless, she'd give him credit for it. Emerson was not a girl good with her words. Her speech was a mess if she spoke at all, and although the thought of writing songs seemed fun, she knew once a paper was laid out in front of her and a pen was held in her hand that her mind would be completely blank. It was tough. She had so much to say, but no good way of saying it. So she generally just shut up, until she figured that it was safe enough to let her words run wild.

Emerson hummed in response to his words. If only her rambles were like that. When the brunette rambled, she was nothing less than an absolute mess. Half the time she got so passionate or excited that her words would string altogether and she'd usually end up saying things she didn't completely think through. And it'd go on and on until her ears caught up with her mouth, or someone pointed it out. The latter would be more embarrassing, but she was prone to those kinds of things.

Robin had quickly moved to a serious topic. The meaning of life. Oh, if Emerson hadn't thought about it, what else was she thinking about? She had, in fact, landed herself in an unknown area, involved herself with unknown people, forgot everything about anything regarding herself and her past, and to top it all off, had become a vampire. The meaning of life - or her life, more specifically - was thought about on the daily. What the **** was she doing here? Why had the universe decided to completely leave her in the dust? And what was she going to do now? Wallowing away was looking promising, but she knew otherwise. She'd brush herself off, try to plant her feet in the ground, and keep going. Forget about the past, forget about who she was, and keep moving forward.

Or wallow away. The idea would always be on the backburner.

"That's some serious stuff. M'not much of a help, but I can wish you good luck. I'm sure you'll be able to write something really great - in ten years or a hundred." She shrugged her shoulders. Her picture was finished, then, and she tucked away her stray colored pencils into their box, in rainbow order. "So, if you write, you must read?" The coloring book was shut, and the box was placed neatly on top of it. Emerson took her mug and sipped at what was left of her drink. "I could always use book recommendations." Reading was a quiet activity. One that she enjoyed. She should have indulged in it more often over the past few months. Better late than never, though.

The girl tilted her head to one side. "A bit? Y'only read a bit?' Emerson wasn't sure if Robin's comment was meant to come off as sarcastic or not, but that was how she took it. How could she not? If someone wanted to be a writer, didn't they have to read a lot to realize that that was what they wanted to do? Unless she was getting the whole thing wrong. She probably was getting the whole thing wrong. Robin had a job - two, really - and Maddison. And with the mention of Lincoln King, the male must have had a decent collection of friends to hang out with, too. He probably didn't have much time to fit reading into his schedule. Emerson, on the other hand, had all the time in the world.

"That would be cool." She nodded her head. She hadn't ventured into a library or a bookstore just yet, but in a way, looking through someone else's collection would be the better route. At public selections, all different kinds of material were left out in the open, which included the good books, the okay ones, and the ones you couldn't even get past the first page of. Someone's personal picks would hopefully weed the last two options out. With being a writer, Emerson had a feeling that Robin was able to fo that. Also, you could learn a lot about someone based on what they liked to read. Emerson at least seemed to think so.

Three whole questions were set on the table for the girl, requiring her to serve up three answers. She racked her brain for them. Did she know what she liked? That was a strange question she thought she would never be asking herself. "Um." A hand came up to run through her hair. "Well, I don't watch much TV. If any at all. So, dunno." The activity never really interested her. It seemed unproductive. However, if someone else wanted to watch television, she would comply and sit with them because sitting with company was better than sitting alone. During her sleepover with Maddison, that was just what Emerson had done, and she had fallen asleep before she could even start watching the movie. She felt like watching television wasn't something she was allowed to do. Like someone would be disappointed in her if she wasted her time away like a couch potato.

"I like learning, though. About people and animals and... things that aren't people and animals." She laughed lightly at her inability to phrase her words better. "And stories. Like, if someone were to tell me something that happened to them before. That's not really reading, though. She paused. "If I were to read some stories, I'd probably like made up ones. Not fantasy, exactly, but..." A thought - memory? - crossed her mind. She liked to be read to. It didn't come to her as much of a shock, but it did make her sound more childish than she already looked. So she kept it quiet. "Myths, fables." She shrugged. It wasn't a lie. "Fairytales. But m'open to whatever."

Emerson struggled with speaking, and she knew it, too. She could come up with strings of beautiful sentences, fiery comebacks, and trails of her opinions to voice, but her mouth would run off on its own before she even had the time to translate her thoughts into speech. Because of this, often times her responses to questions or comments or the like weren’t as they were intended to be. She could mix things up, turn them inside out and upside down, and leave whoever in conversation with her, more often than not, nothing less than confused. It was her own fault, and she recognized it. A side effect of nervousness. A side effect of fear, and uncertainty. She was all of those emotions, messily rolled up into one, and it was hard on her. She didn’t know how to handle it, and if she herself couldn’t, how could she expect someone else to? There was a tugging in her chest that told her there had to have been someone out there, from her past, or awaiting her in the future, that could help. That could figure out where her mind was. Something like a fairytale where everything worked out happily ever after.

Until then, she clamped her mouth shut and listened. Robin was spitting out titles and authors and Emerson did her best to push away her insecurities and doubts to instead absorb his words. He had to have known what he was talking about, right? Since he was a writer? On that aspect of things, she trusted him. He could probably pull a book out that would suit her. And even if he couldn’t, even if the book ended up being tough at page three, at least he tried. It was the best anyone could ever do. And to show that she could try, she’d finish the book. Even if it wasn’t a good read.

A bookstore was mentioned, but it was late, wasn’t it? The sun was down, of course. Humans closed up shop early in the perspective of someone who slept through the day and came alive at night. Emerson didn’t find that very fair on her end, but humans needed sleep, so she made herself get over it. No use in running her mind over something so minor compared to the major crash and burn of her life. With a quick glance down, the girl was able to see the bottom of her mug and decided that they’d been there long enough. She would have mentioned leaving soon anyways. Well, probably. It was kind of a rude thing to do since they were in the middle of a conversation. She did have manners drilled into some memorable part of her brain.

“Yeah, if y’wanna.” An almost forgotten backpack was pulled from where it lay next to her on the booth, in which she tucked away her belongings. One of the straps was slipped onto her shoulder, and then the other. One strap, she knew, would result in poor posture, and she couldn’t have that. Pretty girls have pretty posture, don't they? Or something along those lines. “We don’t have to go, really, but since you’re offering...” She climbed out of her seat, tugged around at the hem of her sweater, and waited for Robin’s next move. Emerson was a follower, in this situation in particular, because she didn’t know where this bookstore was located. She was also a follower overall. Sometimes that made her feel weak, but she knew from no longer being human that physically, she was quite the opposite. If only she was strong enough to actually be able to bring herself to stand up for herself.

Emerson followed Robin, keeping a distance that she saw fit between the two of them - a little behind, a little to the left. Her hands didn't feel right in her pockets, so she switched them to loop her thumbs underneath her backpack straps, and then she dropped them by her sides, letting her fingertips brush against the material of her jeans with every swing of her arms. Without something to occupy herself with, Emerson was usually rather lost. When she walked on her own, her focus was only on going to her destination, not getting lost, and not getting into any kind of trouble. When she walked with someone else, her focus was everywhere - on going to the destination, which was unknown, on not getting lost, which really wasn't in her control, on not getting into any kind of trouble, and on not making anything awkward between herself and the taller male. She appreciated when he spiked up a conversation, which took some of the pressure off the awkwardness factor of it all.

The bookstore Robin described sounded nice enough. Emerson wasn't big on public speaking, but it would be nice to go and hear someone at an open mic. Poetry was nice. Kind of like music, like songs, which she loved. She wondered if the male opposite to her ever wrote any poetry. He didn't seem like the kind of guy to, but she couldn't make that assumption just after meeting him. And, with his blossoming relationship with Maddison, he could be inclined to write her a piece or two. It would be romantic. The other half of the bookstore's description, however, didn't pertain to her. Not exactly, at least. It did manage to spark something small - a snippet of a moment. There was a teasing voice in her ears, warm hands on her upper thighs, a deep murmur of Oh, would you like some cheese with that whine, baby? and the oh-so-familiar feel of heat on her cheeks, her own voice mumbling out a No, m'sorry. And then it was gone. She blinked once, twice, three times, and replied to Robin's comments instead.

"People think that they don't need books anymore. 'Cause of technology." The toe of her boot found a small pile of colorful leaves and stepped into it with a satisfying crunch. "But people seem to drink a lot. So it's smart. A shame, but smart." She shrugged her shoulders - as if to say, what do I know? - and continued to follow along. "If they have Halloween books, I wanna look. Not anything super spooky, but there's this one I think I know. About a girl and a cat and-" She scrunched her nose up a bit as she tried to remember it. "Buttons. I dunno. There was a song..." Emerson trailed off with a shake of her head, but let herself quietly hum the tune as she scuffed down the sidewalk. "Oh my twitchy, witchy girl..."