(2016-09-19) Dirty Poems
Dirty Poems
Summary: Grayson has some opinions on poetry.
Date: 2016-09-19
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://coralsprings.wikidot.com/logtitle)
NPCs: Players go below, other chars that deserve mention can be listed here
Scene Runner: Who ran this scene, NA if no-one or mutual

The School's library spans the very bottom of the old fort to the top of the Admin Hub. The center is open so one can see all the way from the bottom to the sun roof that lets the rays in, some full three to four stories in total height, no matter what level the student is on. It has several smaller alcoves with tables and comfy chairs for reading on the upper levels. A small cluster of research computers is set up for students who prefer internet searching to page turning located on the main school floor. Anywhere there's isn't bookcases inspirational posters are plastered against the walls. The check out is near the bottom, always manned and in order, the insignia for Coral Springs and the starting date on 1991.

The large grouping of such eclectic books leaves a dryness to the air and in some sections a faint musty odor. Anyone caught talking above a whisper will first get a stern glare and then be asked to leave if they can't quiet down.

Grayson is sitting at one of the tables. He's got two large tomes of poetry sitting in front of him, as well as a smaller poetry book that specifically features Walt Whitman. The Whitman book is opened, and he has his elbow resting on the table, his forehead in his palm, as he studies the words on the page.

Besa is humming to himself as he starts down the poetry isle himself. After the strange, strange conversation with Kaylee about poetry, he's wanted to read some good stuff. Not just to get by. Her explanation hurt his inner poet. The short boy goes tip toe to reach for a book, his pretty hair has product in it today it seems, which is odd. He's not really a product in his hair type of guy.

Grayson looks over and notices Besa with the good hair. He furrows his brow just a little as he watches the other kid. It's unusually to see anyone in the poetry aisle. He just watches for a bit, squinting just a little to see what book the young man ends up picking.

Besa reaches and pulls down a collection of Edgar Allen Poe poems. He smiles warmly to himself, happy with the book. Maybe he couldn't read the titles and was just grasping for random books. There's a nod, his hair swaying with the movement.

Grayson tilts his head, dropping his hand from his forehead to the table. "Really?" he asks dryly, announcing himself and greeting the other kid at the same time. "Poe?" He looks disapprovingly at Besa.

Besa blinks and turns towards Grayson before turning that warm smile back on and towards the older boy. "I have not read much of his yet. It is good to read new." The book is pulled to his chest, but he steps forward, head tilted while his dark eyes look over the books Grayson has. There's a tiny nod of approval, not that Grayson needs his.

Grayson sighs. He looks down at his own book, the Whitman one, and he closes it. Standing, he steps over to Besa and holds it out. "THIS one." And then he reaches to take the Poe book from Besa, if the other kid will let him. "It's good to read good. This?" He taps the cover of the Poe book. "Is crap."

Besa does, but his head tilts in confusion why Grayson is taking his book. "Grayson, I-" Blinking, the egyptian slowly takes the offered book, "Poetry is like pottery…sometimes it is the journey that is important." But he smiles, looking up at Gray, "I will try it."

Grayson smirks, "Poe isn't a poet. He was a hack." He shrugs, "Look, Poe was one of the first people to write short stories. He was definitely the dude who invented the detective mystery story. But a poet?" He makes a 'pshaw' sound as he rolls his eyes.

Besa chuckles softly at the eye roll, "Perhaps he wrote poems to better his short stories then?" Besa's very much silver lining type of guy. Or a glass half full. "Do you write?"

Grayson blushes and averts his eyes, "No. No, I don't." He moves back to flop down into his chair, tossing the Poe book off to the corner of the table. "Why? Do you?"

Besa sees the blush, but isn't sure what that's about. The not-a-poet is watched as he moves back to the table before he steps closer, "I have not for a very long time." A long time. "Do you just enjoy reading poems then?"

Grayson shrugs, "I guess." He swallows, pulling one of the thicker books over to in front of him. "There's beauty in language. It ebbs and flows like the tides, a cadence and rhythm unlike any other thing. It moves each of us differently, and yet we all experience it the same." He looks back at Besa. "And also not the same at all."

Besa smiles softly, watching Grayson use the book as a shield. "Spoken like a poet." He doesn't move to sit down or get closer, not wanting to spook Grayson. "I will read Whitman and see if moves me in the same way you have experienced it."

Grayson responds to the poet comment with a little smile, a bit of smug pride on his face as he just nods. He leans back in his chair. "Whitman invented free verse. Before him, all poetry rhymed. He's kind of a big deal, B."

Besa laughs again, "Perhaps it was just not recorded before Whitman!" But there's nodding and another friendly smile, the nickname seems to sit well with him, "I will learn him if he is a big deal."

Grayson laughs, "Yeah. He's a big deal." He smiles and then rises, picking up the thick book of poetry he had. A little devious grin replaces the smile, and he adds, "He's also kind of dirty," and he wiggles his brow at Besa. With that, he turns to head toward the exit.

Besa head tilts, looking down at the book. Some of these modern terms don't really make sense to him. Crushes, dirty. "It looks clean…" the book, anyway. it has no visible dirt or dust on it that Besa can see.

Grayson turns back to look at Besa. He smiles, "No. I mean dirty. You know…" He laughs, "Like, sexy." He shrugs, and then heads out of the library.

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