she’s about to find out whether the kid really killed himself or if he’s still alive and it’s been driving her nuts and so close, so- a stranger is speaking to her, and sitting next to her. her head jerks up and she scoots a little bit away from the other. she assumed having the book to cover her face and the way she was curled up on the worn library chair would be a signal that she didn’t want any visitors. especially since there were thousands of seats open away from her. well, okay, not thousands. ”i guess.” she says softly, creasing the top of the page and closing the book. she didn’t want to seem rude, even to a stranger who sort of just sat down. but she also wasn’t a very good small talker. ”i’m jenny.” she holds out a small, slightly shaky hand.
( ♚ ) he just sort of stares at her hand for a moment, before finally shaking it and saying cordially, ❛ rudolph mcmasters. nice to meet ya. ❜ not really sure why he gave her a fake name. kind of feels bad about it, but he can't really do anything about it now. he's silent for a moment; he's thinking about lighting a cigarette, but he decides against it, and instead asks, ❛ what're you reading? hey, have you ever read out of africa? it's a pretty good book. ❜
