"Oh, it's beautiful down here! And you say there are swans on the lake when the weather is warmer?"

"Yeah, we have swans. If I'm still living here in the spring, maybe we could have a picnic, and I could show you the swans. The trees around the lake are all in bloom. It's like being in a postcard."

"What do you mean, if? Why on earth would you want to move?"

"It would be nice to be closer to campus. Also, my rent is four hundred fifty dollars, even though it's only a one-bedroom apartment, and I don't even have any air conditioning. My mom would rather I just stay here because it's safe and quiet, but it's so far away from everything." She grimaces. "Then there's the type of people who live here. It's not like Portland, where my dad lives. You'd think people out here never even heard of goths before. If I hear one more person ask me if I'm Amish, I'm going to scream. Just because a person dresses in black does not mean that person is Amish."

"But you have swans!"

She laughs. "And a long bus ride. I'm going to need a car if I keep living down here."

I don't quite see eye-to-eye with her on this one. I've never had my own car, and I've endured longer bus rides to get to work, from neighborhoods that were considerably less scenic. Swans were never part of any neighborhood I ever lived in, for that matter, not even when I was a child living with my parents, in a historic gaslit district, in a large Tudor revival house. Swans would certainly have gone well with the place, but we didn't have any.

"If I come down to visit you in the spring, and we have a picnic by the lake, can I kidnap one of your swans?"

"You don't know much about swans, do you?"

"Uh..."

"A swan probably has way more hit points than you do. If you don't get bit all over, you might get a broken bone or two from the swan's wings."

"Birds have hollow wings. That can't be right."

"They still bite. They're nasty. Please don't try to run off with one of our swans. I like you. Besides, can you imagine what kind of havoc the swan would wreak on the bus, assuming you could fit the swan through the door? I presume you'd be taking the bus home."

"Well, yes."

She pulls out her keys. It was a short walk from the bus stop because her ground-floor apartment is in the "downtown" of her suburb. Her apartment building, a Victorian house that's been subdivided into four units, is quaint. The view from her building's front porch is quaint. Everything here is quaint. She lives in a sugar confection of a town that belongs on a Holly Hobbie print, or maybe in a dentist's office as an advertisement for what to avoid if you don't want cavities.

We don't have class today, I don't have work today, although Magister does, and it's not gaming day, so when she asked if I'd like to come over and watch movies and pop some popcorn, I said yes.

"Would you mind if I hung out with my friend from campus this afternoon while you're at work? I might get home a little bit after dinnertime. I have to transfer buses downtown."

"Mind?" Magister asked. "Eromene, how long have I been urging you to try to make more friends? You need a life outside of me. Go. Spend some time with somebody other than me, outside of work and classes. Enjoy."

Her living room window has stained glass in it. The stained glass is mostly in shades of pink and purple, with a little white and green here and there. Flowery quaintness. Of course, it's quaint.

We settle onto her couch (which, surprisingly, is not quaint; it's an orange burlap monstrosity that looks like it was rescued from a basement somewhere) and watch Labyrinth as her air popper pops the popcorn. Sitting right next to her, I notice that the two of us are a study in contrast. Where my hair is blazing auburn, hers is a pale blonde that is almost snowy white. Where I am freakishly tall, she is short. Where I am angles, she is all fascinating plumpness and curves. I probably should stop looking at her. If she notices me looking, it could make for awkward conversation, not to mention, there's a chance that she might be one of those people who is uncomfortable when being watched.

People seem to think that all goths are built like skeletons and that there are no plus-sized goths, but then, people also seem to have the idea that all goths have their hair dyed black. I suppose we could talk about that if she asks. It would be better than my simply saying I have no idea why the differences in appearance between the two of us fascinate me so.

"Do you have any owls that I could take home with me if I can't have a swan?"

"You mean like the one that turns into the Goblin King? No. No owls. Sorry. Anyway, what would you do with the Goblin King if you took him home? Don't you already have one... um..."

"Magister. Yes."

"Also, I have dibs on David Bowie."

That reminds me you're a babe.

"What's he planning on doing with that thing, anyway?"

I note the direction of her bugging eyes. "What 'thing?' His riding crop, or his codpiece?"

"Yes!"

I shrug. "Probably whatever he likes, I would imagine. He's the Goblin King, isn't he?"

"Well. I wish he'd come do it over here."

"You wish?"

"Yes. I wish he'd come do it over here. Right now!" She closes her eyes and waits, then reopens them. "Darn. It didn't work. Oh, well, a girl can dream. Popcorn?"

My Victorian lit class is over, and I have some time before I have to clock in for my shift at the call center, so I'm at the library. Magister is filling in at the circulation desk this week. Usually, there are one or two other librarians there with him, but since he is alone, my guess is that someone made herself scarce after sighting a problem patron, and since the person Magister is helping is male, and is wearing a disappointed look on his face, my guess is probably a sound one.

No, he's not burly, nor does he look particularly intimidating, despite his height, but Magister is male, which means his female coworkers sometimes call on him to obstruct sexual harassment. He stays at the desk to "provide help." Meanwhile, the co-worker makes herself scarce. Exit, hopefully not pursued by the bear.

I wait until the patron is gone, partly because I don't want to interrupt, partly because I don't want to be a possible new target, and then walk up to the desk.

"Another Harold Hill?"

"Yes." He sighs. "At least this one didn't decide to wait around."

Sometimes they do that. Breaks only last so long. Sometimes Magister being the only librarian around to help a patron effectively discourages that patron from hitting on the woman he's looking for at the help desk. Sometimes the patron decides to wait for the librarian he had hoped to interact with, and Magister's presence only delays the inevitable. Unfortunately, if the patron in question isn't mauling his target, and his attentions stay within the boundaries of plausible deniability, the only way for the harasser's target to deal with the situation is to politely endure it and to try to avoid showing any kind of reaction.

I do my best to not flirt with Magister when I visit him because I don't want to set a bad example. When I first heard about the problems his co-workers had with patrons making lewd comments, asking them out on dates, getting overly friendly, and otherwise verbally harassing them, and the library's administration refusing to get involved on the grounds that the library should always be a "welcoming place for patrons," I was horrified.

A familiar voice beside me says, "I'd like to check this out," and Gaston LeRoux's The Phantom of the Opera appears on the checkout desk.

My classmate is in black from head to toe, as usual. She went to a few extra pains with her outfit this time, though. I have no idea where she found that corset dress, although the pointed witch's hat looks like it was part of a Halloween costume. Possibly the dress was part of the same costume. It is now February, but I think a good argument could be made for celebrating Halloween outside of October. Take now, for instance. Thanks to my classmate, I have realized that both Halloween and Valentine's Day feature the devouring of copious amounts of candy, and it would only be a small tweak to change Valentine's Day to Winter Halloween.

"Wow!"

"Do you like it? It looks like something out of Beetlejuice." She twirls in front of me. "Strange and unusual!"

"Yes, Lydia." I grin. "Where on earth did you find that dress? I love it."

"Used clothing store. I got lucky."

She makes a little bit more small talk, then flits off with her book, black lace trailing under her velvet coat. I should have asked her where she got the coat, too, not that I could afford anything like it.

Magister gives me an odd look.

"Eromene? Your classmate seems to have a bit of a crush on you."

"What? No, that's impossible. She knows I'm with you."

He frowns and shakes his head. "I doubt an object of desire being attached to another person has ever stopped sexual attraction from happening."

"I don't see it. Really."

"I hope you're not leading her on. That wouldn't be fair to her. Be a little more careful."

I shake my head. "I don't even think she's interested in me, but I can assure you, I'm not flirting with her."

When it's time for me to go to work, I pull a piece of paper out of my purse and leave it on the desk. I like to give Magister little presents when I visit - love notes, quotes, poems. In warmer weather, I sometimes leave flowers. Today it's a Catullus quote. Da mi basia mille, diende centum, diende usque altera mille. Give to me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand.