what does it mean to look upon a ruin?

WHERE: daily grind WHEN: saturday evening WITH @nishawestley​

Ajita pushed their glasses back on their nose, their brain was killing them, but they were too fierce to let go and head home. Too fierce even to go back home. They just couldn’t let go, their body was vibrating with adrenaline, and they needed to get it off their chest in some way. 

With more coffee. They ordered a double espresso and sat back down in their favourite seat, furiously typing away on their phone. They switched in their seat and knocked down the sign, which fell right into the walking path of someone. “Sorry, sorry, hope I didn’t hit you,” they said to the person. 

The smell of coffee hit their nose and, almost instantly, tension fell from their shoulders and things like inventory and store management just slipped from their mind. While Nisha had planned to spend the morning photographing some of her old spots - evident by the vintage film camera that hung from a leather strap that crossed over their shoulder - coffee was needed first. 

The loud sudden sound brought them from their daydream of an iced latte and grounded them back in reality. Nisha blinked first, as they took in both the fallen sign and the person speaking to her.

— When he woke up that morning, feeling Herne’s weight heavy on his chest while his dog snored, he hadn’t thought that he’d go into town. At least not in the mid-morning when there were actual people about. The tourist season had largely died down, and the only people left in Pleasance were the people who either had to stay or made the choice to stay. The air had become cold overnight, and the frost stayed well past its welcome in the morning. Still, as he was leaving the museum, he saw a set of keys hanging by the door, and he picked them up. One key fell off of the ring. An old skeleton key that he had found while he had been wandering. “Suppose you want to go with me.” he signed to the key before he picked it up, just the same that someone would speak vocally to an inanimate object. After slipping the vest with necessarily paperwork into Herne, signaling to his friend that it was work time, he walked with his black cockapoo outside and into the brisk autumn air. The moment he left the museum, he already wanted to go back into it and hide. he didn’t – but he wanted to. He took deliberate steps towards the town, and if he saw anyone, he quickly averted his eyes or would try to take an alternative path so they weren’t forced to be nice and say hello to him. He didn’t want to make someone’s day worse because they had seen him. So, when he arrived at the old bookstore, he almost didn’t go in. But the store had been closed for a while… and he had run out of books to read. So boredom overcame anxiety, and he pushed himself inside, Herne stepping in front of him to take the lead. He saw them - he didn’t remember their name, just that she was the old bookstore owner’s daughter. Marion wasn’t very good with names. He waved, an awkward gesture that suited the tall, gangly, awkward man. “Do you have the newest John Connolly book?” he asked and signed in tandem. While he didn’t engage with the townsfolk often, it wasn’t because he was deaf - but because he was afraid. Two separate and unrelated things. He wasn’t ashamed of being deaf and signing normalized that his native language was sign, and he was translating for a hearing person’s benefit.“If not Connolly … maybe another horror-mystery novelist?”

The alluring call of a cigarette was still on her lips, but she had too much to do and there was a slight hope - and it was truly slight - that the store would be something that would help keep her busy enough to quit. Pushing past it, she moved behind the counter where Maude’s dedicated notes were tucked within the second drawer. Elijah may have left instructions, but Maude had been running things on her own for sometime even before he died, which meant Nisha expected some changes - and hopefully some clarification - to the process her dad had written out. 

Nisha jumped lightly at the sound of the door opening — though she really shouldn’t have been surprised at customers, it was their first day open after awhile. At the very least nosey small town gossips would’ve been stopping by, if not reading fanatics happy to have their store back.

“John Connolly?” They repeated it, more for themself than for their guest, before lifting up a finger to signal that it’d be just a moment. Reaching into another drawer she found The Binder, as her dad used to call it, that kept a log of all upcoming releases and if they’d gotten them in stock or ordered. Scanning for the name in the list of recent months, they found it sitting at the end of October. The ordered box was checked, but the supply one wasn’t.

Their hand lifted, two fingers tucked into their palm while the other two and the thumb went from extension to closed — officially using her entire bank of ASL knowledge. “Not right now. It should get delivered this week, I had to pause incoming stock until I could get in town.” But, closing the book and motioning towards the horror section, a Pleasance favorite, Nisha walked to the same display. “This is what we’ve currently got in stock, but I can get something ordered for you if nothing strikes your fancy.”

That being said they pulled one from the shelf, grimacing at the layer of dust. “Sorry, really should’ve come and cleaned up more before being open.” Embarrassed, she wiped it down the side of her dark denim.

The bookstore was – open?

Seeing the person struggling to shoulder open the door, Henrietta thought to herself that either they were attempting to open a difficult door after a long time, or they were - perhaps - attempting to bully their way into the store. Perhaps a thief? Couldn’t be, though. Not in a town like this, where even petty theft wasn’t entirely necessary (not that it was unheard of, as she well-knew). It was what she gave pause, and caught at the difficult door with a hand.

Her head peering inside, she called out: “ – well, hey there stranger.” A friendly enough tone, to indicate she was at the door. “Haven’t seen this place open in a while, is this a twist of good fortune? I used to get all my favorite pulp fiction here when I was little. My momma got all her Nora Roberts here too, she’ll be so happy if you’re fixing to pick up the inventory.”

Pressing the on button on the computer, their face twisted at the feeling of dust. It may have just been over two months since Maude had left for Cincinnati but that didn’t keep the place from building up dust like it’d been a decade instead. Between the distraction of dust, and where to wipe it off, and the terrifyingly loud noise the computer was putting off as it loaded up they didn’t even hear the door open. 

Turning to the door she offered a friendly smile, deciding to just wipe the dust from her finger down the side of her dark denim. “Hey — hi,” Nisha paused, trying to recall the name for the face that was just as faintly familiar as the voice attached to it, before giving up. “Depends on who you ask,” it was playful, but true. 

“It might take a day or two to get things cleaned up and double check my stock, but I’m sure we could get your mom back to her regularly scheduled dose of romance.” 

The keys were heavier than they remembered, considering there really should’ve only been three — one for the front door, one for the back, and one for the safe hid underneath his old desk in the back. But flipping through them, Nisha counted until they could find the one with a barely visible book engraved on it. Eight keys. Eight. Why the hell did he have eight keys?

If he really wanted her to take over the shop he could have at least left behind better instructions. Like what each of these damn keys were for.

Click.

The sound of the door unlocking brought them back to the present, and they used their shoulder to push the old thing open. It took more to open than it should have and the sound it caused was like nails on a chalkboard. Tossing their keys onto the counter, Nisha pulled out their phone and wrote out ‘fix front door’ in their notes app — adding another item on the ever growing to do list.

hello hello. my name is JD and i go by SHE/HER pronouns. though you may come to know that GOBLIN is more fitting. i am freshly TWENTY-EIGHT and was bribed with good vibes by RIPLEY and GREY to return back to tumblr after a six year hiatus. i’ve brought along with me NISHA, a THIRTY-EIGHT year old PHOTOJOURNALIST who was once upon a time a pleasance NATIVE before getting a full ride to the UNIVERSITY OF CINCINATTI. they are genderqueer and go by SHE/THEY prnouns. she’s back in town after the passing of her dad, ELIJAH WESTLEY, to get NEXT PAGE bookstore running until a buyer can be convinced to take it off her hands. or so she thinks.