WHEN: a time WHERE: Library, North Beach @manojoaquin
Someone mumbles it to her. Awkwardly. Slowly. Like their afraid what she’ll say in response to the accusation. Her chin tips, following silently to the scene of the crime, half-amused at the notion that she cares enough about Matthew’s collection to steal the books from it. It’s only when they are outside the library and Joaquin’s dismayed voice reaches her that she deigns to respond. “You’re giving me zero credit, if I wanted to steal a bunch of books, I’d have done it and you’d never know,” she points out, stepping past them to enter.
It’s a mess. But which is worse? The books strewn across the floor, or Joaquin’s sad squawking? “Joaquin,” she calls, uncertain he heard her enter over his... grief? Confusion? Mallory doesn’t spend long trying to decipher what he’s feeling, they’ve never seemed to operate on that wavelength. As is, she’s surprised he’s still here, and that’s what she focuses on for a heartbeat: “Huh, you’re still here? I thought it was around the time you’d go for a walk.” It’s certainly around the time where Mallory would begin hibernating, too.
“Did you do this?” a woman asks. She doesn’t remember his name, and doesn’t bother trying to recall it. Mallory hums thoughtfully, thinking that once his words would have made her laugh. “As if I’d leave such a mess behind. Is there anything missing?”
