#phraseology

You were here now because your friends, the same ones who had nearly shoved you into publishing your writing in the first place, had suggested it as a good location for a book signing.

A book signing for a vanity press seemed silly, but you had put everything you had into it, and so had your friends. They helped you fund-raise for the cover art, and even gifted you the funds needed for a full and proper editor. The only thing your book lacked at this point was the backing of an agency’s marketing tools.

But you weren’t trying to make this your full time job, at least you didn’t think so, you had just wanted to put your words to paper and hold them in your hands. Even if it was just once.

The Archive was solid neutral ground, however, and as you stepped inside you could feel yourself relaxing. Something about the smell of old books, and the way the city was immediately muted when the door closed and set you at ease. This wasn’t the hustle and bustle of the Grandline Metro, this was the calm stillness of a safe space.

Perfect for you and a dozen of your friends and family to use to satisfy your little fantasy.

Stone walls and floors, heavy and immovable wooden shelves that seemed almost melded into the stone work, it was little wonder this building had stood the test of time. It felt as sturdy and inevitable as a mountain, though at a mere three stories, it was hardly as tall as one. Seeing signs set up guiding people toward your book signing, beginning at 2pm this afternoon, made your stomach knot a little bit again, but not so much you couldn’t push it aside.

You had no idea what kind of traffic The Archive received on a daily basis. You only know that the gentleman who helped you set everything up over the phone a couple weeks ago, had recommended the time. His voice had been relaxing, and it was so easy to talk to him you’d thought the library must host book signings every other day.

Drawing closer to the location of where you were going to sit, you notice copies of your book set in view around the area, neat hand-writing on small cards reminding visitors about the date and time of the book signing. You’d only sent the books a few days prior, but you were getting nervous about how many people might end up showing up.

You hadn’t expected any advertising, and you’d almost picked a local bar because you figured at the very least you could have some drinks and hang out with your friends if nothing else. It would be much easier to accept a lack of interest with a few drinks and some socializing.

The table where you’re meant to sit has a few more well-written signs on it, with a couple small stacks of books. The side shelves of the racks nearby had more copies of your book. It was a little embarrassing in the end, but a young man fussing with one of the displays catches your attention.

Wavy blonde hair falls down loosely, almost like inverted fire swirling around his neck, but not quite reaching his shoulders. He looks over-dressed; suit, vest, jacket, and matching shoes. They fit him well, the white suit is clearly tailored, and impressively crisp and clean. Blues and golds accent it, but nothing overtakes the snow white fabric, even his shoes are unmarred and a soft snow white.

He turns toward you, red - wait - blue eyes taking you in with a charming smile on his lips. His face is scarred over his left eye, slipping beneath the loose mop of hair and under his collar. Compared to the rest of him it’s barely noticeable, and you find yourself smiling back at him.

There’s a beat of awkward silence, but he breaks it easily.

“Ah, may I help you find anything?” He offers and you can’t stop a nervous chuckle.

“I’m (Y/N),” You reply, holding out your hand. “Here to sign the books.”

His face brightens, and he shakes your hand. The leather of the glove is warm and supple, if not for the seams against your fingers you might not have realized he was wearing them.

“The lady of the hour, perfect!” He turns toward the table with the books on it and you shift that way as well. “We have everything set up for you and ready to go. The head librarian organized the majority of it as we don’t often host something like this, but if there’s anything you need please let me know.”

He grabs his top hat from the nearby shelf and puts it over his heart before bowing deeply. “Sabo of Goa, at your service. I’m merely the sponsor of this fine old building, but it is always my pleasure to lend a hand when I can.” When he straightens back up he puts the top hat on, leaning on a black cane you hadn’t even noticed before now.

“Well, thank you for all of this.” You say, walking over to the table. “It’s more than I expected and I’m… a little overwhelmed, but very grateful.”

“Certainly. I can fetch some water if you like, or perhaps a different style of pen.” He offers, looking down to see a few simple disposable pens laid out.

“Oh no, I…” You reach into your shoulder bag, rummaging around for a moment before holding up a couple pens. “Brought my own. I thought if I ended up signing more than I expected I should make sure the pen’s comfortable.”

“Are those Alabastian fountain pens?”

“Huh? Yes, actually. I’ve never had someone recognize them before.” You admit, holding one out to him. “My mom gave them to me a few years ago when I turned eighteen. I’ve heard they’re expensive, but I’ve never looked up how expensive. I didn’t want to get scared away from using them.”

“Well, value is often found in the use, not the cost.” He replies, handing the pen back, a soft smile on his face. “I think it’s wise to decide to use them and not worry about anything else.”

Sabo chats with you for a few more minutes until your friends arrive, and then excuses himself quietly. You and your friends gush about The Archive and how cool it is. How old it must be, how interesting the old books must be.

You sign and chat for a couple hours, surprised at the number of people who you don’t know that come through and buy a copy, asking you to sign it for them. Some ask for a synopsis, some for just a one-liner. A surprising number of people buy it as a gift for someone else, and two people you end up talking out of buying a copy, because they didn’t realize how graphic it was going to be.

If you knew how many strangers you were going to have say the phrase “it’s a monster fucker romance” to, you might not have agreed to the signing. You were certain your face was lighting up like a christmas tree, every time you had to explain things with as straight a face as you could desperately maintain. Fortunately, your friends sang some of the praises for you, talking at length about other stories they’d read, and what they liked from yours.

It wasn’t nearly as horrifying as you were worried it was going to be, and by the end of the entire thing you’d sold almost every copy you’d brought with you. Taking off the cost of buying the books yourself, you’d still made a profit by the end of it.

Taking a drink of water after the last of the customers and your friends left, you froze, and looked down at the glass you’d so casually drank from. Your eyes shifted to the nearly empty glass pitcher nearby and your brow furrows.

When had someone brought over water? Why were you drinking it so casually? You don’t even remember asking for water or telling anyone you were thirsty. You hadn’t seen Sabo, or any other library employee during the signing, and while you’d been too distracted by friends and such to think on it earlier, now it was sticking in your head.

There had to be extensive staff here, the place was sizable. Three floors aside it commanded most of the city block it was on, with stalls and stores crowding around it, but nothing was going to dominate the space quite like the Archive itself. It would take ten people just to keep everything cataloged at the bare minimum.

You were starting to think the place might have it’s own magic, like the old fairy tales about how places that exist for long times get their own souls, or faeries move in, tending to the dust and keeping things organized. The mental image of Sabo being harassed by faeries makes you smile, just because the idea of him running after his hat while it floats away is harmless enough.

“It’s good to see a smile on your face.” Sabo says, nearly causing you to leap out of your skin. He smiles, and you’re certain there’s mischievousness at the corners of his mouth, but he doesn’t tease you further. Instead he holds out a copy of your book. “I read it during the signing, and I was hoping you were up for signing one more copy?”

“I - you - that’s - I mean… S-sure.” You stammer, taking the book from him. “I didn’t expect something like this to be up your alley.”

“Oh?” He hums and you wonder what you could possibly say. “The world building was solid, and the way you wove in history lessons for the reader without making them feel like a history lesson, was a testament to your skill at story-telling.” He grins when you look up at him, still unsure of how to sign the copy.

“The build up to the sex scenes was just as good as the concupiscence feelings they elicited. Your pacing made the emotional shifts feel quite natural.” He says it so easily you’re almost more embarrassed by the praise. “What really came through, however, was that you were having fun, and I find I appreciated that deeply.”

Grinning, you chuckle a little and look back down at the book, signing it easily. “Thank you for appreciating my joy,” you say as you write the words inside the cover, signing your name easily beneath that. You keep the cover open for a moment, giving the ink time to dry. “That was very kind praise, thank you.”

“I would say it was the least I could do, but, I was hoping to offer you something more.” Sabo says the words with the same ease as before, gloved fingers barely grazing yours as he pulls the book away. He seems to scrutinize the dryness of the ink for a second before closing it in satisfaction.

You tilt your head, brow furrowing slightly. He couldn’t possibly be hitting on you, right? He was handsome, and probably your age, and certainly he’d enjoyed your book, but he looked like he was a dozen tax brackets above your wildest dreams.

“I -.” You aren’t really sure what to say and he clarifies for you.

“I spoke with the head librarian briefly, but we’d like to offer you use of the Archive if you’d like. If you wanted to pursue a career in writing, we would be willing to help you. There are resources for finding an agent, publisher, and all of that rot.” He waves his hand, clearly unconcerned about the details. “There’s no pressure of course, but having read an innumerable number of books, I can say that I think it would be good for you to give it a try, if you so desire.”

“For… smut?”

You can clearly see amusement in his smile, but then it shifts to something more genuine. “Smut is but a small portion of the story you wrote, was it not? The descriptions, the world itself, and the struggles and joys of the characters within. You had nearly eight thousand words in that book, not counting the three pages of thanks, and of that a little over a tenth was smut. Even then there was emotion and story within the… sheets.” He grins, tapping your forehead lightly with the book itself.

“So no, not for smut, but also yes. Because the inclusion of it shouldn’t be given room to diminish the rest.”

“… I really don’t know what to say.” You admit sheepishly.

“Then for now, say nothing. Sleep on it, a day or two, or even a week if needed.” He offers. “There’s no need to rush such a decision. You’re also welcome to come back tomorrow and discuss the details with Marco and go from there if you’d like. He has a much better head for that stuff than I do, and the extra insight could help you make a decision.” Sabo assures you. “He set up most of this on his own, and sadly only left the sign making to me.”

“Perhaps wisely,” he muses with an easy smile after a moment’s pause. Something in his tone or movement relaxes you, and the fret that had been building over the idea of becoming a full-time, actual professional author fades.

“I can do that,” you agree, turning your attention back to packing away what few books you still had left. “Come back tomorrow and talk with him, I mean.”

“Mm,” Sabo hums happily, watching you for a second longer before speaking up again.

“Do you want to donate the few copies you have left to the library?” You pause at the question and look back up him. “I could buy them, if it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, but you can donate them. We have half-a-stack for Sora Norberts novels, we can certainly keep a couple of these in stock without issue.” The look on his face leaves you with an impression that he’s not exactly a fan of Mrs. Norberts novels.

“I, yeah, actually. If I could donate them, that would be great. I’ve already given copies to everyone I know that would’ve been interested, so I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do with these anyway.” You admit honestly. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, I assure you.” He replies smoothly, walking with you to the front of the library.

You notice people milling about in the library, but no one looks at Sabo as you’d expect them too. His presence is striking, in contrast with the dark work and muted stones of the library, clean and while not bright, certainly brighter than his surroundings. The cane and top hat alone stood out against the more relaxed fashion of most of the city. It seemed rude to point it out, and maybe those who regularly visited the Archive were simply used to him.

Or maybe he-.

“Is everything okay?” Sabo prompts and you shake your head, scattering the odd thoughts that you were losing yourself to.

“Huh? Oh, yes. Everything is good. Sorry, I think I zoned out a little.” You give him an apologetic look. “This old library pulls me in and I think my mind gets a little too creative.”

“Not such a bad thing if you’re going to use it to help you write.” He offers with a smile. “Ah, that came out with more pressure than I intended. I’m merely excited at the idea, forgive me.”

You return his smile as you step back out into the city. “Certainly, and thank you again for letting me have a book signing here.”

He lowers his head in a slight bow, giving you a wink as the door closes. For a split second you swear you see something change, but you can’t even hold onto it enough to wonder what would’ve caused it. Despite your strange thoughts, you leave the Archive feeling light and good. The book signing went well, and your conversation with Sabo was an exciting prospect.