Silence, in the library. (Felix/Willis)

[Keaton Derrickson]

It was quiet time for Key. Well more importantly, he needed someplace quiet. School had been pretty hectic that day, with far too much noise and people yelling. It had frayed the poor boys nerves just a bit. So he was extraordinarily happy when his English teacher assigned them a book report. It was an excuse to go to the most quiet place in the whole school, the library. The moment his final class had let out, Key made a b-line for it and didn't stop to even nod his hellos to any friends he may have been passing. He'd apologize later and explain. 

Soon enough, he was through the doors and surrounded by the stacks and the somewhat comforting smell of books. He started to walk the now familiar rows for something to do his report on. Strike that, something he would enjoying reading and do his report on. He practically ran past the religious section, skimmed briefly through history and science sections, then stood staring aimlessly at the YA Fiction section. He'd never really read them, though he'd seen several others doing so, and heard them talking about some, so it did peek his interest. Though, as he skimmed the titles, he wasn't sure what he was looking at exactly, or what would be a good fit for him. 

With a bit of an exasperated sigh, Key turned and started to look for the librarian, his whiteboard in hand. He'd never really checked a book out, so he honestly wasn't sure who this person was, but he assumed it would be the one adult in the room. Feeling a bit anxious, he slowly approached the other man and wrote quickly on his board. "Are you the librarian? And/or, could you suggest a book for me?" It was an older male, and though he'd come to be okay with most, it still made him feel weird approaching one he didn't know. 

[Felix Arnaud]

Where do correct ideas come from? Do they drop from the sky?
No. Are they innate in the mind? No. They come from--

Felix sighed, closing his battered second-hand book and slipping it back into the bag at his feet. Political writing was occasionally interesting to him from a historical standpoint, but he had a hard time getting invested in it. At the very least, it was one of the few forms of literature he had to force himself into if he wanted to get any reading done, which made it second in line to pretty much everything else in print. As it turned out, Mao Tsetung wasn't the exception to that rule. At least he hadn't paid much for his copy.

As it turned out, his boredom was well timed; no sooner had he sat up than a young man entered his field of vision, holding a whiteboard of all things. The student (he assumed, but it seemed like a reasonable enough assumption) started scribbling something down, which Felix of course had read by the time the younger man was finished writing.

This being Hammel, there could be any number of reasons why the brown-haired youth was using a whiteboard to communicate; maybe he had a voice-based power he hadn't learned to control? Or had lost his voice as a side-effect of the same? But Felix decided to proceed under the assumption that he was deaf, for the simple reason that it was the only reason for this mode of communication that he would think should affect his response. So Felix made it a point to look in boy's direction (though perhaps not directly at him, aiming that well was a little more effort) before he spoke, that he might read his lips.

"I'm the library assistant, at least; you can call me Mr. Arnaud, or Felix if you're comfortable with that. What kind of books are you interested in?"