scurlock | oom: milliways library

Katherine smiles, first at the way Doc corrects himself, then at the statement itself. "As you so kindly pointed out, I managed to get lost in my own schoolhouse and end up in a bar. So I promise I won't judge if you ever have been lost in--"

She takes a look around.

Her arm tightens slightly around Doc's. "Goodness, I have never seen so many books before!"

"All different time periods. Y'got history, readin' books, poetry and science...books for learnin' and books for pleasure. Maps and some books on art as well."

Doc smiles.

"And wasn't like you got lost, since you'll be able to get right back where you started when you head back out the front door."

"Ah, and it's a good thing I can still see the front door, as I hear it." She turns to him then and regards him with a patient smile. "I was trying to make you feel better, though, Mr. Scurlock."

She turns back to the rows of books and dips her head to the side, trying to read a few of the spines. "Tolstoy, Twain... who is Tolkien?" She fingers the spine of a strangely bound book.

"Seems kind of dangerous," she remarks, glancing up at Doc absently, "to have history books from the future, wouldn't you think? What's to stop any one of us from peering into our own futures?"

Doc allows her to step free of his arm as she explores, and he lightly tucks his hands into his pockets as she scans the titles and author's names.

"That...I'll admit that it's awful temptin', sometimes. To just look it up and see the answers," he glances towards the history 'section'. "But even some of us folk from Earth...all the Earth's ain't the same. So you could look in a book and it'd say somethin' but maybe your future is actually different."

He's read several books. Each of them have different endings, but most end the same way for Billy the Kid and his boys.

Six feet underground.

"Tolkien? I've never heard of him, sorry to say."

"Really?" Katherine exclaims, popping up from where she had been closely examining a few publications, and looks at Doc with clear round eyes. "That's fascinating! I read somewhere... they called that something..."

She thinks for a moment.

"Ah! A paradox. Multiple universes, multiple futures." She grins and shakes her head. "More'n more this place sounds like something straight from Verne's imagination."

A book suddenly and mysteriously tips from one of the shelves and flops on the floor with a loud fluttering of pages. Katherine bends and picks it up.

"'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells. Hm."

"They sell paradoxes," Doc laughs quietly. "Fried, like chips you'd expect to find in an eatin' house. They ain't quite potatoes but they're pretty good. Just a name, though."

He looks down at the book in her hands.

"Ain't read that one either, when was it published?" The cover and way it's bound certainly looks like something they'd be familiar with, from their time period.

Miss Katherine looks up at him with an expression of wonderment, as though she's trying to determine whether or not he was being serious. She laughs brightly.

"Sounds... interesting, if nothing else. I've never been very adventurous with my palate, though. We get fresh peaches in Green Lake, and that's plenty for me to be satisfied."

She thumbs through the pages of The Time Machine, stepping closer to Doc as she does so, and displays the copyright when she comes upon it. "Eighteen-ninety-five," she declares, and then lets out a short laugh. "Well, least now I know you've been sincere. This place is too real to the touch to be a dream."

"Wouldn't dare lie to such a fine woman as yourself," Doc says. "Besides, I'm sure you would've been able to see right through it, just like listenin' to your students talk 'bout their homework."

He smiles, and nods his head as he offers her his arm again.

"The poetry section is just a few rows over?"

His words paint her cheeks the color of peach blossoms. She tucks her chin toward her chest shyly.

"Well, you are certainly right about one thing, Mr. Scurlock. I've gotten very good at seeing through a tall tale. One of my students once tried to tell me his hound ate his homework. Have you ever heard such a thing?"

Her expression brightens at the mention of the poetry section. She accepts his arm gently, reaching to put the book back on the shelf, but pauses.

"Do you think the proprietors would mind if I held on to this? Just for a few days?" She tends to devour literature quickly and eagerly. Besides, it sounds like too interesting a read to wait another eight years for.

"They don't mind at all. Sometimes if you know what you're lookin' for, you can just ask for it at the bar and they can get it without you havin' to come up here and search." Doc nods. "I could hold it for you, if you'd like to keep your hands free for perhaps choosin' a few more."

Then he chuckles.

"I once had one of my students try and tell me the same thing, 'cept in New York City, not many folks have room for a hound in their apartment, so I told him if he had such a small hound then perhaps he'd like t'bring it in to show the class," he smiles. "He brought in his work the next day, of course."

"Is that so?" This prospect visibly excites Miss Katherine, who is already composing a list of literature in her mind she's been dying to read. She smiles bashfully. "You are very kind.

"And very astute. I imagine there's no leaving a place like this without bringing a few books with you. I know it would be difficult for me, at least." She chuckles softly. "But I wouldn't want to burden your own hands, if there was something that caught your eye."

She laughs at his story. "Sounds like your students keep you busy. I can't imagine... New York living must be far different from what it is in the West. Do you not miss the open spaces when you're there, Mr. Scurlock?"

She motions for him to lead the way to the poetry section as they converse.

"You should see my room," Doc says, before he pauses. "Not that I'm...suggesting...just sayin' that I've got books all over. Bring new ones in all the time and they get mixed up with the old ones, I bring them back when I remember to but I'm sure she's got extra copies sittin' around."

He leads the way to the poetry 'section', as it stands.

"It is different," he agrees. "Very different. Often times I find myself wishin' I was back in New Mexico, 'fore we started havin' troubles. The city is...the city is amazing," he admits. "So many different places and people, but I do miss the sight of the sky sometimes."

There are the old and the new, the past and the future, mixed together on the shelves. Chaucer and Shakespeare share company with Homer and Frost, with Sappho and Keats. Spencer and Milton near Ryokan and yes, Poe.

She manages to chuckle dismissively, but the blush has not left her cheeks yet. Doc is a very charming character.

"I hope there are no late fees, in that case," she smiles. "I had a bill with the library in my hometown by the time I left. It was more than a dollar! And I keep finding their books as I unpack, too."

She nods. "The city sounds fascinating. I would adore traveling there someday. However, I don't think I could live anywhere but Texas. My heart is too wrapped up in the sky, the land, the lakes... even the desert."

When they reach the rows of finely bound books, Katherine beams at Doc and again breaks from his arm. She runs her fingers along the spines tenderly as she walks, examining each title. "Oh!" she exclaims, pulling a leather-bound book from its place. "Byron! But I've never seen a book so fine!"

"You could try it, sometime," Doc offers. "If there's someone here from a place you'd like to visit an'you get to know them, if they open the door you can go back or forward to their world. It's...quite amazing, really. One of my best friends is from England, from Sherwood. He's a man of Robin Hood. I've been back to visit his home, before, a few times."

He looks along the titles himself and smiles when she speaks. "The staff here takes good care of their books. As for late fees, never run into any myself. Bar can run you a tab, like I mentioned earlier, but I've never had any library fines." A knowing nod. "And well, as for the missin' books, I'm sure that they can rest easy knowin' that they'll be put to good use teachin' your students."

"Oh!" she exclaims, after flipping a few pages (forgive her, she's easily entranced). She turns to show Doc a passage and nearly bumps into him, dropping the book. And just after Doc had mentioned the good keep 'n care of the literature, too.

"Begging your pardon!" she breathes, hand to her chest and red-faced. "I didn't think you were that close. I found my favorite poem by Byron and... I suppose I got a little overzealous."

A pause.

"Did you say you know an acquaintance of Robin Hood?"

Doc reaches to steady her when she nearly bumps into him, a hand gently touching her arm, a smile on his face as he laughs quietly.

"It's quite alright," he promises, as he kneels down to fetch the book from the floor. "I've got it."

Once he's stood again, he nods.

"Will Scarlett. Young kid, 'bout eighteen. Flamin' red hair," he looks down at the book in his hands. "Which work of Byron's is your favorite?"

She reddens even more when he puts his hand on her arm. "I'm usually not this clumsy," she says sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. There's a timid little smile on her lips.

"Yes, I've heard of him I do believe! Well, at least, what I've seen in folklore and poem. But he's real? Here, in this bar, and real?" She beams. "First a member of Billy the Kid's posse, and now one of Robin Hood's merry men! I suppose next I'll be meeting Captain Ahab; or perhaps Hamlet?"

She redirects her attention to the book, now in Doc's hands, and reaches to find the page again. Her fingers lightly brush his knuckles as she does so, and she recoils shyly at the touch. "Forgive me. Ah... here." She points to the page.

"So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon."

"That's beautiful," Doc says, very quietly. "I admit I haven't read too much Byron but...I think that I'll have to take a gander at some of his works, now that I see the talent."

His own ears are blushing, just a bit.

"Found I learn a lot here," he admits. "Always meetin' new folk an' makin' new acquaintances and such. You can learn so much just from talkin' to people and they all got stories to tell. Fine tales, even if it's just their normal lives."

Doc looks down a moment at the book.

"Ain't ever too old to learn, always reckon."

"And I'm glad for that, Mr. Scurlock," Katherine responds with a smile. "No man should go without Byron in his life. His poems are beautiful, but often so sad. When We Two Parted always makes me cry."

Her eyes fall back to the book as well. "No, never too old to learn. I find I've learned quite a lot in just the short time I've been in your company. You have had some fine stories to tell indeed; I hope you'll tell me more."

Her smile could light a lamp, easily.

"It ain't often I get people into Milliways who find it interestin', if I must say so," Doc says. "Bein' that I'm not from some far off land with starships and flyin' coaches and the like. Guess that's just what happens."

He looks at her and nods.

"So I suppose what I'm sayin' is I'd love to, Miss Katherine," he adds, with a bit of a smile on his face. "It'd be my pleasure to chat with someone who's interested in what I've got to share."

A beat.

"And please, call me Josiah. Or Doc."

She admits, the idea of flying... coaches... is a bit hard to wrap her mind around, but nonetheless she shakes her head. "I find that hard to believe. You're a very engaging conversationalist... Josiah.

"Or do you prefer Doc?" Her cheeks flush slightly.

"Would you tell me more about what you mentioned earlier? About going to other worlds through different people's doors? Sherwood must have been a treat!"

"It was. I'm hopin' to go back, after Will gets back from a holiday with a ladyfriend of his," he says, as he glances around the library and spots some nearby chairs. "Actually went back with him to help him out in a bit of a fight against the sheriff."

Doc motions at the chairs.

"I...well I don't mind which you use, but most people 'round here know me by Doc, so they'd probably know who you were talkin' 'bout a bit easier if you used that," he admits. "If you'd like to sit, I can tell you about Sherwood?"

"Oh." She looks visibly concerned for a moment. It's strange to hear Doc talk about fighting. Of course, she knew that must be part of the job description, being part of Billy the Kid's gang, but she hadn't quite reconciled this image with that of the gentle poet she had been conversing with these past few hours.

"Yes, of course," she says, blinking herself back to the present topic, and she moves toward the chairs. She offers him a brief smile.

"Doc it is, then.

"Please, continue."

"Wasn't much of a fight, more of a...well I'm sure you've read the tales. Robbin' the rich and givin' to the poor. Seems the sheriff took more than he was supposed to take and Will needed some help gettin' it back to help the people who live in Sherwood 'fore the snow came."

Doc sets her book down on a nearby table.

"So he asked me t'help him, and some others from the bar. There were...probably eight of us? We all went back together. It was...the scuffle with the sheriff wasn't much at all," he says. "But the forest...I ain't never seen anythin' like it. Green as far as you could see, and it was almost like...like it was alive."

"It sounds lovely," she remarks, some of the concern leaving her features. "Still, not much of a vacation, considering. I don't know many who would go to such lengths for someone else. I can't even imagine what that must have been like."

But she had read the tales, even played make-believe in the tall grass as a child, wielding a makeshift "bow" and imaginary arrow, calling for justice to be done to the afflicted. Her blue-green eyes sparkled with the memory.

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